


Stars Alike In Dignity

by angelicfangirl



Series: The Angel Legacy [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Female Jedi Consular as Outlander, Multiple characters per class, including F/F and M/M, multiple minor ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 367,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicfangirl/pseuds/angelicfangirl
Summary: Five years after the death of Emperor Valkorion, those left behind make a last-ditch attempt to free Jedi Master Lieca Amell, his supposed murderer, from her carbonite prison in the halls of the new Emperor Arcann, Valkorion’s son. Her younger sister Callistra, a smart-mouthed slicer better known as Calli, daringly infiltrates Arcann’s palace during a public celebration to steal the access codes to her sister’s prison. A chance encounter with the Emperor leads to success when she catches his eye, and she decides to be selfish and claim a night with him all for herself as a reward after secretly planting the dataspike to save her sister. Sadly, despite the surprising connection they shared, Calli is accidentally thrown out by servants during the night, bitterly regretting her moment of weakness.But at least her sister is safe, and that’s all that matters. It’s not like she ever intends to see Arcann again. No doubt he forgot about her as soon as he woke up anyway.How wrong she is...





	1. Aftermath (Arcann)

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this story immediately follows on from story one "The Lady In Green", written by the lovely Defira, and will make more sense if you read that story first! This story would also not exist without her and her gentle encouraging so hooray for Defira!
> 
> Please also note that Ona'la is not the Hero of Tython in this fic - my Jedi Knight is Cera, who is with Doc, and Ona'la is with Thexan. Ona'la and Thexan's canon story is covered by Defira in her works, and a lot of themes about Arcann and Thexan are generously borrowed from her so go check out her works to see more!

Emperor Arcann scowls as he slides his mask back into place, angrily pacing his quarters as he waits for his staff to finally collate all available information about the young woman from the party last night. 

_“Find her! Pull the security tapes, interrogate the guards, find out who she is!”_

The name the woman gave him while in his arms last night was evidently a false one, as there is no record of anyone named ‘Calli’ attending the party. Even if it was presumably a diminutive, there are no records of a similar name from any of the attendees. 

Too frustrated and annoyed to head down into the throne room, he continues pacing his quarters, leaving his people to deal with any problems themselves.

He is usually out of bed later in the mornings anyway, especially after celebrations at the palace. They will be fine. 

Though if someone doesn’t give him some information soon about either Calli or the Outlander and her escape, they will be significantly less fine. 

Why does everything always have to happen at once?

Due to his earlier response to the news of the Outlander’s escape, the private console in the wall in his bedroom is currently unavailable, though a few frantic servants are rushing about trying to reinstall the console and repair its hardware. Thus his steward is forced to send information the old-fashioned way. 

He dismissively leaves the servants and takes the datapad from the runner, moving into the main room to peruse what has been found out so far. 

He flicks the datapad on as he moves, scrolling through the list to see a haphazard collection of videos and notes from the staff interviewed from last night’s celebration. 

Apparently, rather than wait to collate all the information on both women together, his seneschal would rather send information in dribs and drabs. Wonderful. 

Considering his rage to the Outlander’s escape this morning, he supposes the tiptoe response might be justified, but that is entirely besides the point. 

Arcann sighs heavily and settles down onto his couch, wincing and rubbing the edges of his mask with his hand. He just wants to know who the hell Calli was and maybe where she might have gone, is that too much to ask? And to find that wretched Outlander and whoever helped her escape, which is clearly the more pressing concern upon his time.

Evidently his staff have little information about Lieca Amell and her current whereabouts as the information before him is entirely about last night’s revelry and the woman in green, whom several people seem to remember. 

Vaylin can deal with the Outlander while he tries to find Calli. It makes sense to not waste his time chasing the same thing Vaylin is. Conservation of resources and all that; far more sensible for the High Justice to deal with issues of security and what not, while he finds the mysterious Calli and explains to her that the whole business with his servants was simply a misunderstanding. Vaylin would find the Outlander, Calli would grudgingly accept his apology in that delightfully argumentative manner of hers that had intrigued him in the first place, and then they could pick up where they’d left off the night before. 

A flawless plan, really. 

It was exceedingly foolish of his people to have thrown her out in the first place. Yes, that was the usual situation - paramours collected by his servants and removed before they tried to make any further claims on his time - but nothing about his meeting with Calli and subsequent time together had been usual. He was the _Emperor_ for Scyva’s sake, he did not normally sit around waiting for people to finish their baths. Couldn’t they have seen that she was different?

It’s just another annoyance to disrupt his day - if his people had retained their wits and not interfered, he would be spending his morning in an infinitely more enjoyable way. Instead he has to sit here and wait for her to be returned to his side.

Of course she would be thrilled to be recalled to the palace at the order of her Emperor. Anyone would. Perhaps she might be a little upset - such treatment is hardly befitting of someone who caught his eye so easily after all - but he is sure that he can smooth over any shows of unhappiness on her part. She had been so easily distracted by his flirtations the previous night after all, despite her pique. He grins in the direction of his desk, gleefully remembering how easily her shows of defiance had stopped once he told her how beautiful she was and kissed her neck. 

Now if only he could just bloody find her, that would be fantastic and solve all his problems. 

At least the factors about Calli that had turned his head had also turned several others, which of course does not bother him at all. It was natural that everyone had noticed the bright colour and backless cut of her dress, which rather flawlessly showed off her body to great advantage. 

And of course the most crucial data of her Force-forsaken full name and title is not available as Leandra, the Master of Ceremonies has not yet responded to their queries and was the most likely staff member to have those details since the system didn’t recognise Calli’s name. He rubs at the edges of his mask again in irritation, considering the incredibly likely possibility that Leandra is still curled up with her latest conquest from the party. 

He is most certainly not annoyed by the fact that her lover had chosen to stay for the night. 

At this point he just wants to know who ‘Calli’ really is, purely to find out why she would bother giving a false name to her Immortal Emperor. The fact that she retained enough presence of mind to give a false name in the first place while supposedly in the throes of passion is also unsatisfactory. 

He rolls his shoulder in annoyance, grunting as the motion pulls on the tiny marks her nails had left on his back when she clung to him, crying out his name. They’ll be dealt with eventually, but for now he likes the reminder. They help him focus.

One of the entrance guards has made a note that the woman had a VIP ticket to the gala, but had no other information to offer. “Well that’s useless,” he mutters in disgust. It’s quite obvious what the guard had chosen to focus on in the brief time that they had seen her. He will have to wait to ask Leandra. 

Sighing, he turns to the next avenue available of the guests rather than his staff. Someone has apparently located a short video of Calli from shortly after she arrived, and he flicks the screen to send the video to the interface in the table before him to start it. 

His breath does not catch at all to see her standing there giggling into a glass of champagne before turning a dazzling smile on the young man who appeared at her elbow. 

He is quite proud to note that it seems to be the same false smile she kept trying to use on him at first. Somehow, the knowledge she is not actually happy to see the person now in front of her makes him feel better. 

The camera is apparently too far away to catch their brief conversation through the music and his eyebrow rises to see her all but fawning over the boy. She even seems to be showing off her jewellery - though he completely doubts that that is what the boy is looking at. 

He had noticed her jewellery too - though of course he was also the only one that saw her wearing the jewellery with a bathrobe rather than the gorgeous green dress she is wearing now. 

The two step out of sight of the first camera and the video for the next starts playing automatically, showing them reappearing on the dance floor. 

Despite his frustrations with the many unknown factors, he still smiles to see her sashaying around in that shimmering dress. No matter what else, there is no denying that she looks absolutely beautiful. 

Arcann’s smile fades as he watches her blatantly flirt with the boy, who seems more than thrilled with the prospect. 

_If she pressed herself any closer she would have all but merged into him. It’s inappropriate on her first dance of the night, that’s all._

He wonders if she gave _him_ her real name. 

She is a lovely dancer, and he feels a pang of regret that he himself had not had the opportunity to dance with her. It was his original intention, to single her out with his attentions and woo her with the thrill of his company, but then the altercation between his guests had sped up his intended timeline quite significantly. And yes, she ended up in his bed regardless, but part of him still wishes he had been able to dance with her too. 

He continues watching the video and his fists clench slightly to see her stumble at some of the steps and press closer up against the boy, whose hand is still curving around her partially exposed hip. 

Just as he recognises the boy as the son of one of his surgeons, Cailus evidently says something that Calli doesn’t like and she deftly disengages from him and retreats back into the crowd, still smiling that oddly fake smile. 

He makes a sidenote on the interface on the table to ask Cailus about her, regardless of her seeming disinterest in continuing their acquaintance. 

There is a few other videos scattered throughout the night which judging from the time caches are not in order. He skims over them, frown deepening at the random glimpses of Calli approaching more and more members of the party during the night, often reappearing in the cameras’ viewpoints looking almost disheveled. There are rather significant gaps in the videos though (obviously his staff just panicked and sent whatever they found first which he really should say something about).

Her fake smile keeps reappearing throughout the night, and clearly shows that his interpretation of her persona was correct. There is also a few short clips here and there of her pulling faces before smiling brilliantly at the next person to cross her path. 

He chuckles at the face she pulls as she pulls away from one of the Exarch of Balmorra’s nephews, all but wrinkling her nose. His smile fades again at her expression as one of the city administrators clearly runs her hand down her back.

He likes that he seems to be the only one to have been able to see through her for the night, but he also feels a little annoyed watching her throwing herself at all of these other people. It’s undignified and confusing and making him irritated even if he doesn’t actually understand why. 

It’s not jealousy. He is the Immortal Emperor - why would he ever be jealous of someone else? He can have anyone he desires. And indeed he did, as she ended the night in his bed.

It’s just unbecoming watching so many revelers fall under her spell without noticing the pattern. 

But what is the pattern? What was she trying to accomplish?

A night in someone’s bed would be easy enough with how they’re all but throwing themselves at her in turn, so what is she really looking for?

Grumbling, he continues to flick through the list of information available in his head: Calli had shown up at the party in glittering green, apparently unconcerned with how much she stood out. She took the opportunity to flirt with several attendees of the party, but despite their obvious interest she eventually moved on. He had caught up to her after she and another patron crashed into each other, judging from the wine stain and crushed glasses. She continued to maintain a polite charming persona but it kept dropping around him, as though she was distracted or nervous. She swore and insulted him to his face, getting angrier as his amusement increased. She called him an asshole, bud…

Bud?

_“Yeah, bud, so what?”_

_“Are we buddies, now, are we?”_

_“It’s slang, you asshole, Core World slang.”_

He frowns. He had been too distracted to make the connection at the time (and unaware of the status of her invite), but why was the owner of a VIP invitation, typically reserved for ranking members of society and their families, using Core World slang? Has she spent time in the Core? Typically only the Exarchs spent enough time personally around the Core to even have the opportunity to pick up the language. 

Perhaps she is connected to one of the Exarchs?

He hears the runner at the door with another datapad, but doesn’t bother to move as one of his servants fixing his console hesitantly enters his room to pass it to him.

Arcann takes the new datapad without acknowledgement, barely even looking at the servant while he turns the device on and they flee. 

He prefers to be alone in his rooms as much as possible. 

Scrolling through the second datapad, he can barely contain his displeasure. For a woman as noticeable as Calli was, there is surprisingly little footage of her throughout the evening. Scattered glimpses here and there yes, but little substantial footage of her and anyone in particular she may have spoken to. 

His steward has apparently been busy as even the most ridiculous gossip holomags have little information on the woman who was the “EMPEROR’S LOVER, FIND OUT MORE HERE” or whatever other bloody headlines they were using. 

Usually he couldn’t care less what the gossip columns say as he never intends to intentionally see any of his conquests again. He gave them his attention and their pleasure for one night, why would they ever ask for more? Why would they dare? They have no claim whatsoever on his time. He is only checking to see if perhaps the holos have any details about who Calli really was. 

The new datapad has a few notes from the team assigned to escort Calli from the Spire, but there is very little information there either. She took nothing with her other than her personal effects and a fresh outfit, despite offers of compensation which she apparently completely ignored. He frowns to see that she did not speak to a single person, even after they asked where she needed to go, and had refused to let them touch her. 

Apparently even the Knight assigned to escort her home had been given the slip, which is surprisingly impressive. A short note on the datapad also says that said Knight received medical attention shortly after returning for a broken nose. He snorts in vague amusement, fairly certain from her attitude last night that Calli would have been responsible for that. 

_“I don’t think you mean that with respect at all.”_

_“Well, apparently you like my honesty, so yeah, you’re a fucking asshole.”_

A woman potentially related to one of the Exarchs, beautiful enough to catch the eye of several members of high Zakuulan society, clever enough to give his people the slip and get under the guard of one of his Knights, and still able to retain her thoughts enough in his arms to give a false name - just who the hell is she?

Arcann tilts his head at the table’s console to see another file appear, marked as “Guest Information” and starts perusing the list. Some of last night’s guests and staff have been woken and questioned about the woman in green, and his steward has sent through their responses. 

Upon reading the list he realises he is possibly even more in the dark than before - apparently ‘Calli’ was very busy last night and told everyone something different. If he wasn’t so confused he would almost be impressed by the breadth of her stories:

_Tallindra - High society jeweller_

_Sigrun - Weapons manufacturer, divorced_

_Oriana Alfons - daughter of Core World royalty who pledged to Zakuul_

_Mara - Knight-in-training_

_Janel Meadhra - historian_

_Lyyti - reporter, recently engaged_

_Viola - niece to Exarch Gian Tur_

That last one almost looks promising, but considering the scale of information before it, it seems equally unlikely. 

Huffing in frustration he tosses that datapad over his shoulder, finally hearing the sounds of his servants leaving his bedroom after repairing the wall console. Sighing heavily he decides to leave this useless information behind and get some actual work done while he impatiently waits for someone else to discover the woman’s identity and location.

He wanders back into his rooms, running his hand over his face again before rubbing his shoulder. 

He throws the datapad with the security footage onto the freshly made bed as he walks past, grumbling slightly at the fact he won’t even be able to smell her perfume in his sheets anymore. 

Arcann then blinks as he notices something out of place. A new ring sits on his bedside table, completely innocent for all it represents. 

He recognises it instantly as Calli’s, the shining silver band and flat clear stone matching the rest of her jewellery from last night. Her ring also has a few flat black stones which appeals to his own preferences as it’s not ridiculously ostentatious.

One of the servants must have been confused while cleaning his rooms and thought it belonged to him, rather than return it to her when she left. 

Impulsively he slides the ring into the pocket of his robes where Thexan’s ring stays. Her fingers are too small compared to his for him to be able to wear her ring. And he doesn’t want the servants to clear it away and get rid of it.

He will keep it until he is able to find her again. It is only polite to ensure that her belongings are returned to her. Nothing stupid like a token to remember her by. 

_Sentimental fool._

He heads towards the couch, trying to locate the datapad he had been reviewing before the party started last night. Now that the console has been repaired, its network connection should be stabilised. It’s the only one of his datapads currently synced to his private networks, to make it easier to receive information about his holdings. 

It has been neatly placed on the arm of the couch by the servants, presumably when they organised the cushions symmetrically during their cleaning up process.

 _Of course everything has to be neat and tidy._

He picks it up and turns it on, huffing in annoyance as he deliberately flops down on the couch, scattering the cushions about again. 

Even her bathrobe is gone from the floor. If it wasn’t for the videos on the datapad on his bed, the marks on his body, and the ring in his pocket, it would almost be like she was never here in the first place. 

Which, admittedly, is usually his preference, but he is the Emperor and does not have to justify himself to anyone.

He runs his fingers over the edge of the datapad as he muses, and his train of thought is cut off by his fingers running over something almost sharp.

Frowning, he sits up and inspects the edges of the datapad. Did he accidentally snap something yesterday when he was using it?

He finally notices what his fingers found - something that almost looks like a tiny bead sticking out of the dataport.

His blood runs cold as he recognises it as one of Calli’s earrings.

There’s only one reason her earring would be attached to his datapad. A closer looks confirms it as a cleverly concealed dataspike.

His robotic arm punctures the pillow he had been in the process of moving and he angrily focuses to unclench his fingers. 

It’s too much of a coincidence that a dataspike was planted in his personal effects the night the Outlander was freed. 

Scowling, he quickly puzzles together what she was up to during the party. She was clearly trying to seduce the highest-ranked individual she could to get her dataspike into the system. 

_And you fell for it. You thought she actually wanted you._

When did she even have time to plant the dataspike? He or his staff had been with her the entire time she was in his quarters. 

Even afterwards, he had fallen asleep with her in his arms. There was no time for her to have slipped away and planted any-

The only time she had been alone had been when he had left the room to remove his mask, per her request. 

Is... is that the only reason she asked? Not to see his face and kiss him, but to chase him away to plant the dataspike and steal his information? Information to help the Outlander, Lieca Amell?

_The woman Father chose over their family._

The flash of anger at such an intimate betrayal temporarily takes his breath away. 

_Had she even wanted this at all, or was she just an amazing actress?_

He snarls and throws the caf table up and across the room, barely repressing a scream of rage.


	2. Aftermath (Calli)

It takes Calli several hours to get back to Bowdaar and their home after ditching Arcann’s fucking servants.

Perhaps it would have been slightly easier to take their earnestly-offered credits and use them to get home faster but she was angry and hurt and refused to take even that reminder of Arcann and his stupid fucking wealth with her. She wasn’t going to be bought off, she wasn’t his fucking whore.

It was bad enough she was forced to take a new outfit (couldn’t exactly waltz home inconspicuously in a glittery bright-green gown now, could she) and the demure cut of the dull dark brown jacket just makes her feel angrier. It’s not hers, it’s nothing like her own preferred outfits, it just reminds her of the palace and its pretentiousness and fucking asshole rulers who thought they could pull a fast one on her.

The one thing she did voluntarily take was one of the Knight’s patrollers, which she hotwired with her necklace and then destroyed the embedded tracking software. Just a little piece of revenge, but it makes her feel better. And it's a helluva lot faster than walking.

It’s something she took for herself, not something he tried to pay her with for sex. She is worth more than that.

She is definitely worth more than this.

Luckily, before her gleeful theft of Eternal Empire property, she had been able to shake the Knight who had apparently been assigned to tail her. And given him a lovely black eye and broken nose as a parting gift. As if she was going to show those fuckers where she lived. Why did they need to know anyway? Was Arcann going to show up one day and demand that she have sex with him again since she _‘belonged to him’_ now?

She sniffs, definitely not hiding a sob. As if. He made it quite clear he never wanted to see her again, given how easily his servants threw her out like a piece of trash. Besides, even if he does ever hunt her down, that’s definitely the last time she lets him touch her, unless it’s to pull him closer to punch.

He fooled her for five minutes into believing he found her worthwhile. She should’ve known better. She won’t make that mistake again.

Fucking asshole Emperor piece of shit garbage-

She’s still muttering under her breath when she finally walks through the doors of their home and can literally feel herself calm down as she steps over the threshold and into her safe space.

She’s definitely not almost in tears at the sight of a worried Bowdaar pacing back and forth in front of the table. He lets out a soft growl of worry as soon as he sees her and immediately lifts her into a crushing hug. She snuggles into his shoulder, dropping the bag with her dress in it on the ground in front of them.

“I’m ok Bowie, I’m fine,” she mumbles into his fur.

He huffs and places her back on the ground despite her soft protest, gently turning her head to the side to inspect the marks on her neck with a worried rumble.

She bats his hands away quickly, trying to shift the collar of her jacket. Bowdaar makes a sorrowful noise at the tears in her eyes and she shakes her head vigorously. “Don’t fuss,” she says shortly.

Bowdaar shoots her a look and her lip almost quivers except that that would be ridiculous. It’s the injection site of the sedative that’s bothering her, not the marks Arcann’s mouth left up and down her neck.

There’s probably a certain bitter irony that the sedative was administered against the largest mark.

But she honestly doesn’t care, she just wants it all gone as soon as possible. No reminders of him and her own idiocy whatsoever. Stupid little Calli, thinking an Emperor thinks she’s interesting, or desirable, or beautiful, or-

Bowdaar is still staring at her and she waves him off. “I’m fine!” she snaps, immediately feeling guilty for her outburst. She wrinkles her nose because she’s scowling, not because she’s blinking back tears.

Bowdaar rumbles in annoyance but directs her to the center console while he starts rummaging in their bags.

_Damn it_. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, a tiny, relieved smile on her face at his comforting answering sound.

She’s not stupid enough to miss how he’s packed everything up while she was gone. She wonders if all her jewellery will still fetch high prices if she leaves now.

She’s actually attached to her jewellery-making now; maybe she’ll keep it up once they leave. Cera will certainly be pleased at least. She had been so delighted at the opportunity to teach her sister how to work with crystals and the like - knowledge Calli was quite capable of adapting to jewellery making.

The console then lights up, the bright pink figure of a lovely young woman flickering into view over the holoprojector. “Calli! Oh thank _goodness_ you’re back, we’ve been so _worried_!”

She nods wearily in greeting, immediately shifting her hand up to cover the left side of her neck. “Holiday. Please tell me you have good news,” she begs. She hadn’t allowed herself to worry about her sister until this moment but what if something had gone wrong? What if her moment of weakness wrecked everything... and not just herself?

Holiday beams. “It worked Calli! We got Lieca out safe and sound. The dataspike worked _perfectly_. Oh, I just _knew_ we could count on you!”

Calli’s legs nearly collapse under her in relief. Bowdaar catches her, a grumbling note of worry in his voice as he passes her a kolto patch for her neck. “That’s great Holiday,” she says hoarsely. For once, she hasn’t ruined anything. “Where are they now?”

Holiday flutters her hands in front of her. “Last report has them safely at the Gravestone with the others. There was a few issues getting there - they lost a few shuttles along the way, and there was an incident with the power station - but everyone seems to be otherwise healthy. They did request radio silence as they get the last few repairs through to hide the ship as much as possible but Lieca was so worried about you, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we let her know you’re home safe!”

Calli nearly flinches. She doesn’t want to deal with her sister worrying about her. “No no, that’s fine.”

Holiday shifts her hands to her hips and purses her lips disapprovingly, but nods. “I’ll just tell them when they call us again then?”

Calli nods and Holiday frowns. “You know, we were all quite worried about you, Calli dear. Lana was really upset your tracker hadn’t moved.”

Calli blinks in confusion for a moment before she remembers. “Fuck, my ring! Damnit I completely forgot about it!” She’d seen the rest of her jewellery in her bags, but hadn’t remembered to check for the one thing that could have actually tracked her down if something worse had happened. Granted, she’d been in a bit of an emotional rage-filled blur when she’d been forcibly escorted from the palace, far too incoherent to take a proper inventory of her belongings, but still...

_Way to go Calli, you idiot. Fucking lucky you made it home at all._

Holiday raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure you had other things on your mind,” she says politely and Calli’s eyes narrow, still fiddling with the kolto patch.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Holiday’s image shifts as she pulls out a datapad, her representation of concentrating. “You added my data to the Emperor’s private console, and I’ve spent most of the morning trying to delete as much security footage of you as possible without being detected. Also, I can see your neck,” she says blandly and Calli winces.

Holiday then looks up, a sorrowful expression crossing her face as she sees Calli’s. “Oh, Calli dear,” she starts unhappily.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” Calli says quickly, absolutely not about to cry again.

She sees Holiday and Bowdaar exchange a glance but the hologram nods and shifts her over her heart. “Cross my heart, Calli - I won’t tell anyone,” she says sweetly, eyes still sad. “Are you okay honey?”

Calli nods, her chuckle absolutely not masking a sob. “Of course! Just a little out of sorts. It was a long party. Full of idiots. You would’ve hated it,” she says, turning to Bowdaar.

The Wookiee folds his arms, even his growl sounding unimpressed.

Calli sighs. “Yes, I was just getting to that,” she says quietly, deft - if shaking - fingers quickly smoothing the kolto onto her neck. “See, all better.”

He continues staring at her for a moment before grunting and squeezing her shoulder. She frowns even as she tangles her fingers with his.

That’s two people she knows that know - or guessed - what happened, and that’s already two too many. Maybe if she’s lucky they’ll assume it was just for the job and not that she wanted it at all and-

Bowdaar is still staring.

She knows he’s not judging at all, he’s just worried about her. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s never reappeared from a night out looking this miserable. Bowdaar knows her too well.

She sniffles again, shifting the heels of her hands to her eyes for a moment. “Alright, I’ll check to see if the ring moves and then disable the tracking key if it does,” she says quietly. “One of the servants probably pocketed it.”

Holiday’s image is back to scrolling through a datapad. “Well, Calli, just let me know if you need me to do anything,” she says pleasantly, if distractedly. “I’ve already found so much information, I’m _sure_ my Tharan will be thrilled. There’s plenty for the Alliance too! Oh, I’m all a flutter!”

Calli rolls her eyes behind her palms, by now well used to Holiday’s distracted dithering. “That’s great Holiday,” she says quietly. “Let me know when you’re done and-”

“Oh!”

Calli lowers her hands and even Bowdaar stops to look at the console at her exclamation. “What is it?”

Holiday looks up, her expression surprisingly harried for a hologram. “Oh Calli, you have to move fast. Arcann has just put out a call for his people to find you.”

Calli blinks, absolutely not blinking back tears in the process. “The fuck is he doing that for?” she snaps harshly.

Holiday is scrolling through two separate datapads now, representing just how much of her processing power she’s using. “I don’t know Calli,” she says, sounding distracted. “The important thing is that he’s looking. I’ve spent most of last night in the computer but I’ve been unable to act too openly without being discovered in turn. And for whatever reason, the system connected to the dataspike has been offline for the last few hours, which further restricted my access. It seems to be repaired now, which is how I saw the alerts.”

Holiday then makes a vaguely frustrated sound, still skimming through multiple datapads. “But I deleted as much data about you as I could find, which considering how many aliases you used at the party was no mean feat. Even I was confused! I imagine the Emperor’s far less sophisticated programs won’t be able to do much with what was left.”

She then frowns. “They are somehow collating something about you, as I can definitely see encrypted reports being sent to the Emperor, but I can’t imagine it’s very useful. You must have made quite an impression Calli!”

Calli winces, but Holiday continues talking, seemingly unaware. “I don’t think there’s much in what’s available, so we should be safe for now. But his staff do seem to be looking for you. Oh, do be careful Calli!”

Calli sighs heavily. “Well, luckily we were planning on running now anyway,” she says quietly, shifting her arms around herself in some vague semblence of a hug.

She never wants to see him again if she can help it. She doesn’t care why he’s looking for her. He probably just found the dataspike, and made the connection between that and Lieca’s escape. There’s no other reason, and she doesn’t _want_ there to be any other reason.

Holiday’s attention stays on her datapads. “Luckily between the deleted footage and your various identities they seem very confused about who you are Calli - so you should still have quite some time. But I think you should head to the new safe house as soon as possible, just in case.”

Calli nods, tightening her grip on her arms. “We’ll just finish up here and then head right over. We’ll take your console with us when we leave.”

Holiday nods. “Thanks honey. Logging you out!”


	3. Gravestone

Lieca sighs as she looks out at the swamp, crossing her arms on top of her raised knees. She likes sitting out here on the ship’s ramp, feeling the cool air on her skin - because after five years in carbonite, fresh air feels like a novelty,- but the swamp isn’t exactly the most inspiring landscape to clear her morose thoughts.

_You are wasting time._

She grits her teeth. _Go away._

As she shakes her head to clear it, she hears the door disengage behind her and she turns to look over her shoulder. An achingly familiar Mirialan is standing there, the same long cream duster as always, holding a mug in his hands. His grin is a flash of perfect white teeth in the murky darkness. “Hey Liss, what are you doing out here?”

She manages a half-hearted smile as he passes the mug to her, before he shuffles and sits next to her, close enough to touch but still giving her space. “Nothing, just thinking,” she says softly, turning her gaze to the mug. Her eyebrows shift as she recognises the smell and she turns her own dark blue eyes to meet his paler ones. “My favourite tea? However did you manage to bring it here?”

Geralt Abelli laughs. “Sweetheart, you wound me!” he says, eyes sparkling. “I _am_ a smuggler after all.”

She sips, pretending to ignore him. “Oh, I thought that was just your occupation on your business cards.”

He chuckles. “Well, _Hottest and Sexiest Man Alive_ was considered, but, you know, those places charge by the character and it was just getting way too expensive to state the obvious. So I thought ‘ _smuggler_ ’ got the point across for now. It’s blunt but mysterious, gets all the attention.”

She blinks at him. “Please tell me you do not actually have business cards that state your occupation as ‘ _smuggler_ ’. I was just joking.”

He tips his head back and laughs again, the sound rich and full; something about it warms her heart, shaking loose some of the grief that has been clinging to her since waking to a world so vastly changed. “Wouldn’t you like to know darling, wouldn’t you like to know. And don’t think I didn’t notice you not protesting the other title,” he says cheekily, nudging her shoulder with his.

She coughs a laugh under her breath. “I’m just afraid that your ego is all that’s keeping the ship afloat and don’t want to risk hurting it,” she says primly, smiling into her cup as Geralt barks another laugh in amusement.

“You’ve been listening to Risha again. I’m wounded, wounded!” he declares, hand over his heart for a moment to make her giggle before sitting back and letting her enjoy her drink to hide her shaking fingers.

They sit in silence for a few minutes more while she drinks, Geralt leaning back on his hands and watching her. The warmth of the beverage is a pleasant counter to the cool air of the swamp, and if she hadn’t considered herself an excessively tactile person prior to this whole affair, she’s certainly desperately appreciative now. Air on her skin, warmth in her belly, the shifting sounds of another living being beside her. It reminds her she’s alive, for real this time.

She doesn’t need the Force to tell he’s trying to start something - his body is almost humming with nerves as he steels himself up. When she finally sighs and turns to face him, his pale blue eyes are already watching her, expression unusually solemn. “Liss, are you actually okay?” he asks quietly.

She closes her eyes, hands now shaking enough that he makes a soft note of alarm and gently reaches over to pry the mug from her fingers. “No, no I’m not,” she says quietly.

When she opens her eyes to meet his again and sees his sorrowful expression, she can’t hold it back anymore and bursts into tears.

Geralt reacts instantly, tucking her into his shoulder where she can sob and cry and bury her face in the familiar leather as much as she wants, running his hands up and down her back to try to soothe her and crooning nonsense noises against her hair.

She’s only been awake for a day and she feels so overwhelmed, barely remembering most of it. She vaguely recalls seeing Lana’s face just after she woke up, with the searing surge of pain and confusion that came from being torn from the dreamscape and into a poisoned, dying body, but the mad rush to escape the prison... vault... _whatever_ is a complete blur to her. She’d spent most of the time concentrating on healing herself, tucked into the side of the Imperial soldier who accompanied Lana and who carried her as if she was no more cumbersome than a bundle of linens.

Luckily, she’d roused before they got to the power station, or else who knows what might have happened. She had been able to talk the other two down - alright, she really hadn’t won the argument to save the people of Zakuul, so much as just stunning the pair of them and limping off to reset the core herself, much to Lana’s growing frustration and Major Pierce’s immense chagrin.

Her memory feels fractured, and she wonders how much of it is due to her disquiet over the unwanted guest in her mind for the last five years.

Or the fact that it’s been _five years_. Yeah, that’s a little hard to process.

Of course _intellectually_ she knew it had been probably close to that time - she’d seen her family grow, watching her daughter Flissa and her nieces age while she clung to the visions and tried not to weep at the time she was missing with them. But she had also seen so many other horrible things over the years - Satele dead, Cera working for the Emperor, Calli dead, Ther- _others_ dead... all one hundred times over,- that she almost hoped even her good visions were false and just another trap by Valkorion to weaken her defenses.

Another shimmer against her thoughts, as malicious as it is curious, and she viciously flicks back at it, retreating behind her twin’s shield again. She knows Cera has been hurting so much to support her, but she just needs a little more time. Plus the reminder that her sister is safe is calming.

The mad rush to flee the city and safely make it to this ancient starship that Koth calls the ‘ _Gravestone_ ’ (an ominous name if she ever heard one, especially for a craft that makes her so weirdly uneasy) is also a blur of activity and new faces in her mind. The rough landing probably didn’t help, and despite Lana’s antidote and her own fumbling healing attempts while half-conscious, the effects of the poison still linger in her blood, making everything fuzzy and exhausting.

Seeing Risha and Geralt again had been amazing, though the Mirialan privateer seemed to know she was overwhelmed, and slyly pretended to kiss her as though he was passing it on from... someone else. She hasn’t even allowed herself time to really think of those left behind, her sisters and her daughter and...

Even thinking his name hurts. He deserved so much better than her.

As though sensing where her thoughts were headed, Geralt clears his throat. “Hey now, come on hun,” he says soothingly, still gently stroking her hair. “You’ll be alright.”

She nods, her sobs shifting into giggles as Geralt moves his fingers to tickle her ribs instead. He’s always been pretty good at reading her moods over the years, even after the awkwardness of her bluntly turning his advances down on Nar Shaddaa, while she was looking for Master Fain.

They’d settled into friendship fairly quickly after she’d discovered her youngest sister Calli was working with him as a slicer, and he fell hard for his ship’s mechanic in the meantime. He’d always been a massive flirt, but he definitely toned it down after he and Risha got together; he’d been nigh on insufferable beforehand.

Lieca is well aware he mostly flirts now to either make people smile, or to make Risha annoyed. Sometimes both. He’s pretty smug whenever she gets protective over him.

She leans back, wiping at her eyes and trying to smile. “I know. I’ll be ok,” she says hoarsely, actually meaning it this time. She clears her throat to shake loose the emotion still making her voice crack.

Geralt smiles at her, gently cupping her cheek for a moment before leaning forward and kissing her forehead. “I’m glad, Liss,” he says quietly, before leaning back further and peering at her suspiciously. “And just so you know, this is _strictly_ platonic.”

It has the intended effect of making her laugh. “And how many times have you been lectured to keep it that way?” she teases.

He grins, seemingly content that she’s honestly smiling. “In general, or this week?” he asks dryly.

Lieca smiles, wiping at her eyes again and ignoring the additional presence lurking in her mind. “And by how many, I wonder?” she says, voice hitching for a moment as she stumbles over the fact that it’s a vaguely serious question.

Geralt’s smile turns softer. “A rather persistent spymaster may have been one such lecturer, yes. Did Lana not tell you…?”

Lieca shakes her head. “I didn’t ask. I was afraid that he-”

“He waited,” Geralt interrupts quietly, tone unusually serious for him. “Come hell or high water, Theron was going to wait. He’s crazy about you.”

She can feel her face light up at the news, making Geralt smile, before it fades. “I... I am glad, I promise, but... he deserved to have someone. He... he deserved better,” she says softly, feeling tears starting in her eyes again.

Geralt shakes his head, suddenly looking cross. “No, he already _has_ someone amazing. What would he need someone else for? Except for, you know, consensual multi-partnered sexy fun times- _ow_!” She punches him lightly on the shoulder. “You could’ve just said no thanks. Anyway, there’s no-one better than you, Lieca, and Shan knows that. Well, except for Risha of course, but I called dibs!”

She raises an eyebrow and he looks briefly sheepish. “Ah, no telling her I called dibs, okay?”

She giggles again. “I’m sure she already knows,” she says dryly.

He rubs behind his ear, somehow managing to look both proud and embarrassed. “Yeah, she probably does,” he says, before pausing and rummaging in his pocket. “Oh and before I forget again, this is for you.”

He passes her a datapad which she looks at with bemusement. “What is this?”

Geralt smiles. “All of your mail for the last five years,” he says gently, before shrugging. “Well, your mail less the spam and stupidity most people kept trying to send you. Cera looked through most of it first to condense it down - mostly just deleting the spam. I think I remember her saying there was even a few marriage proposals in there. You should really give your details to less people.”

She laughs softly, clutching the datapad to her chest. “Thanks Geralt - I’ll look through it all shortly,” she says, before tilting her head at him. “So, Lana gave me a condensed version of all the galactic news earlier, but I have to start somewhere with the smaller stuff - what’s new with you?”

Galactic news isn’t exactly good - Republic and Empire conquered, the dregs of both governments keeping themselves alive, allies everywhere crushed and beaten down and hurt and she can’t do anything to help them. She has to trust in what Cera has built, this fledgling alliance, to try to help the galaxy recover.

Which is not to say she doesn’t trust her twin implicitly, it’s just... so much to take in.

But that’s just a little bit too ‘ _big picture_ ’ for someone floundering as much as she is. She misses her family. Knowing someone else’s personal changes might help her focus and control whatever’s going on inside her head. _Sentimentality is a waste of time_. She fights back the urge to snap a retort and simply flicks again, her barriers shimmering, and focuses on Geralt instead.

He blinks at her, as if he’d sensed something of the lapse, and starts counting off on his fingers. “Well, I still control Port Nowhere, Risha is still the best mechanic in existence and I still have my ship,” he says proudly before pausing. “Oh! And we have two kids! They’re with their Aunty Vette and Jaesa at the moment while we help out here.”

Lieca blinks. Well, that’s another thing some of her scattered visions got right. “You have kids? What are their names?”

Geralt grins. “Our eldest is a little princess, Calinda Belle Drayen, and her little brother is Eskel Geraldo Drayen. Both absolutely gorgeous - obviously my genes - and insanely smart! Troublemakers the pair of them.”

She smiles. “I can’t _imagine_ you raising troublemakers Geralt,” she says dryly, before pausing. “So you named your daughter after Calli?”

He leans back on his hands. “Of course. Smartest girl I know who’s not Risha. Calinda absolutely adores her aunty too, it’s quite cute seeing them together,” he says proudly. “Oh, and Holiday messaged just before I came out here - Calli made it back safely, so you can stop pacing around about that. Whole team’s accounted for!”

Lieca wasn’t aware of how panicked she actually was about that until he says it, and she nearly doubles over in relief, hugging her arms around herself. “Thank the Force,” she chokes out, concentrating on breathing while Geralt rubs her back in concern.

On the way here in the shuttle, Lana had told her a little more of what exactly had been happening in the last twenty-four hours. Though she had revealed that it was herself and T7 in charge of getting her out of the vault safely, with Pierce as the designated packhorse to carry her, it was only thanks to Calli that they had the codes at all.

They’d sent her baby sister into the halls of the most dangerous man in the galaxy, alone and without an exit plan, and hoped she would be able to avoid detection long enough to perform a miracle. What sort of harebrained, irresponsible, ill-conceived-

She takes a deep breath, trying not to get upset all over again. Intellectually, she knows that they were panicking because she was dying and they were running out of time. But her heart keeps screaming that this was an unconscionable risk to her sister. She knows Calli is good at her job, she knows she is smart and brave and capable. But she is also stubborn and angry and they _literally_ sent her into the dragon’s den all but unarmed and defenceless against an angry tyrant, the son of a world-eater.

And if her visions are correct, Calli went far further into the dragon’s den than any of them expected. She wants to believe this one was false but she knows that Val- _his_ presence at the time implies it was likely true. Seeing her sister tangled up in Emperor Arcann’s arms had shaken her, because she was so afraid for her sister’s life. And terrified it hadn’t exactly been her choice to be there.

Possibly the wrong thing to focus on, but she loves her sister desperately. She loves Calli and wants her to be safe, and she doesn’t want to imagine a scenario where someone forced her into something so intimate against her will, let alone have to bear witness to it. Even if it wasn’t forced and was instead just Calli playing a role - it still worries her. Calli deserves better than this, and it makes her sick to her stomach to think that Calli might have forced herself through it just to get her to safety.

She doesn’t have words for how much it horrifies her, actually. The guilt at not knowing if she was safe had been eating her alive.

She had been so afraid that Arcann would hurt her. If it came out that she had helped ‘ _the Outlander_ ’ escape - would he have made the connection that they were sisters? Would he have _attacked_ Calli? Or did she get away in time, before the truth came out?

At least Calli is alive. Something warns her it might be a little more complicated than that, but she ignores it for now. Calli is alive. She is safe. She is heading home to their family. There’s nothing else she can do about it for now than wait and trust the others to fix this ship so she can join them.

She just wants to hug her family. And Theron. They all deserved so much better than this.

But she has to try.

Risha suddenly appears in the ship’s entrance, looking disheveled. “There you two are! Geralt, I need you to help me with something.”

He grins at Lieca. “See, I leave her alone for five minutes and she already misses me.”

Lieca raises an eyebrow and Risha glares at him. “Or maybe I just want to stack the pipes on your head and throw the wrench at them to make them ring.”

Geralt clucks his tongue at Risha, expression sly. “Oh, I _love_ it when you talk dirty to me.”

Lieca hides a smile at the look on Risha’s face, quickly retrieving her mug of tea and shooing Geralt with the hand still holding his datapad. “Go on you, get going. Wouldn’t want to keep the lady of the house waiting.”

Risha smiles. “I’m glad _someone_ out here appreciates me,” she says haughtily, nodding at Lieca before turning on her heel and sweeping back inside.

Geralt sighs and mock-salutes at Lieca before following his wife.

The Jedi shakes her head in amusement and turns her attention to the datapad to start reading her mail.

There is so many notes and letters here that it almost overwhelms her, and she quickly starts scanning for the most familiar senders. There’s several notes and updates from dear Nadia scattered over the entire five years, at least one newsy letter from Tallina and Felix, and a surprisingly touching tribute from Zenith that makes her smile.

There is even a separate section entirely filled with notes from her sisters and daughter over the five years. Cera’s comments were little updates on the family and dry comments on her mail, clearly intended as some sort of journal. Calli’s messages are short and awkward but sweet, providing more in-depth details about their larger family. Her messages stop a few years in, most likely when she went undercover. Flissa’s messages are mostly random observations from her day and little updates about her own life, especially when she’s younger and clearly dictating them to someone else. Lieca giggles briefly to see some of the messages from the past year in particular: “ _Dear Mama. Theron stole my cookies today. You can’t date him anymore. Love Flissa.” “Dear Mama, Nicola and I made breakfast today. The stove is ours. Don’t listen to Uncle Archie.” “Dear Mama, I hate being grounded. I only moved Geralt’s chair a little bit and this is not fair. He’s a tattletale!”_

But it’s not all silly updates and fanciful details and daring childhood hijinks. _“Dear Mama. Auntie Cera gave me your holocron today. I didn’t mean to break it, it was an accident! Please don’t be mad.” “Dear Mama, I got grounded for pushing Anya today. Why does she get to have her mama here? It’s not fair!” “Dear Mama - I called Aunty Cera ‘Mama’ this morning and she started crying. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” “Dear Mama, Theron got upset and yelled at me today. I want Papa.” “Dear Mama, why aren’t you home yet? I miss you. I want a hug.” “Aunty Cera says you’ll be home soon. Good. I love you. Please be ok.”_

She’s already in tears long before she gets the courage to start reading Theron’s letters, purposefully left until last. Several of his letters mention the more light-hearted moments of Flissa’s, which helps her start to breathe again between the tears from the influx of love and support from so many people she cares for.

She wants to write something back - Theron and Flissa in particular deserve that much at least - but what can she even say? “ _Hi honey I know you’ve been worried about me but I’m still not actually coming home yet”?_

And she knows Theron’s with the Alliance but what if he’s changed his mind? What if he’s having second thoughts? What if her coming back just hurts him more?

What if Valkorion tries to hurt him or her family through her?

She shudders at the thought, visibly trying to throw it off as she rolls her shoulders. Valkorion hasn’t gone after anyone else, and doesn’t seem to be able to interact independently of her. Everything should be fine.

It’s possibly the coward’s way out but she would rather wait to see them all in person. Sending a letter after five years apart seems too impersonal, and since they’re trying to maintain radio silence they can’t use the holocommunicator either. It’s too dangerous to send signals off world right now - Holiday can receive messages in the city, but for a transceiver in the depths of the swamps to suddenly be broadcasting off-world would be too suspicious. Even Holiday is restricted to short text-only messages, as much as she aches to talk to her dear friend again.

Her fingers tighten along the edge of her datapad for a moment before she makes up her mind and starts typing short replies back to Theron. Even if she can never send them, at least they’ll be here. And if she’s lucky, she can say it all in person and it won’t matter.

“ _I did dream of you. Often. Those were some of my favourite dreams._

_I haven’t forgotten either._

_... I miss you.”_


	4. Lady of Sorrows

Calli sighs, tilting her chair back further as she checks her mail, her heels neatly crossed on her desk.

She’d finally had the chance to sell off a bit more of her surplus jewellery from her former cover as a jeweller. She’s a little sad to leave the crafting part of that life behind, but fuck is she happy that soon she won’t have to be living on Zakuul anymore. Oh, she’d been comfortable enough, sure - she and Bowdaar had made themselves a good little life here, and The Spire was remarkably pretty, but it made her fidget being stuck in one place for too long. Plus, living on Zakuul means having to deal with Zakuulans. Bunch of tossers, the lot of ‘em.

But of course the Alliance needs more intel, because Lieca’s rescue was a tangled mess of complications and mistakes, and between herself and Bowie they are the most established to find out who knows what about her sister’s escape and who’s trying to track them down. They’ve spent more than a year slowly repairing the Gravestone in anticipation for the rescue, and five times that just on the planning, and they can’t afford to lose all of that progress at the eleventh hour. So that means she and Bowdaar have a few more missions to run, in order to clean up the mess the extraction left, and the trail of evidence left in their wake. It’s also easiest for them to protect Holiday on location as she continues trying to hack what systems she can - her direct dataport link to Ar-the _Emperor’s_ personal databases had been quickly removed once discovered, and remotely wiped by Holiday to prevent anyone back-tracing it to her. So now she needs to try the slower way.

Holiday is also the only connection the Alliance has to the Gravestone, even if it’s only in the most basic text communications to try and avoid detection. To pass any message from the swamps back to Odessen undetected requires an extra ‘ _hop_ ’ in the datachain, and Holiday on Zakuul is the safest option to avoid suspicion.

But because some _asshole_ who likes to call himself an Emperor is still apparently looking for her for fuck-knows-what-reason, she’s all but confined to the safe house and is going a little stir-crazy. They were supposed to be gone after all - she should’ve been home free by now, not that she really counts Odessen as home. But the first time she did try to go outside, a few nights after the party, she totally got stiffed by one of her buyers, a charming young man who she’d decided would be a suitable palate cleanser to wash the taste of some stupid Emperor out of her mouth. Honestly, with all his stupid fucking domineering bullshit, all that ‘ _everyone will know you belong to me_ ’ crap- here she was a few nights later, meeting a handsome gentleman in a bar, and she’d almost succeeded in convincing herself it wasn’t a dumb idea to have a drunken hookup while her pride was still stinging.

Of course, it was a dumb idea, and she realised that when they’d stumbled tipsy and giggling into a dimly lit hallway in the back of the bar, and while her hands had gone for his belt, his had gone for his blaster. An off-duty Knight, looking to buy a present for his mother’s birthday- and instead gleefully informing her that he’d be richly rewarded for retrieving a person of interest for the Emperor himself.

Fuck that, honestly.

Most men would’ve been smart enough not to make threats of violence and imprisonment while someone had their hands on a delicate part of their anatomy, but maybe the lust or the alcohol had gone to his head a bit too much. Maybe he really was just that dumb. Needless to say, it’d only taken one good yank to have him wheezing and doubled over on the floor, while she sprinted for the exit. It took her ten blocks and three ‘ _malfunctioning_ ’ droids to throw him off her trail, and if his pride had allowed him to call for backup at any point, she probably wouldn’t’ve stood a chance.

Bowdaar was still incredibly grumpy about the whole wretched affair, but she can tell he’s also a little smug to be right that she should be staying in the house, out of sight and relatively free of risk.

And despite it all, she hadn’t made the sale, and she hadn’t gotten laid. Goddamn stressful waste of an evening.

From Holiday and T7’s latest reports, their next course of action is to track down the infamous ‘ _Lady of Sorrows_ ’, an underworld figure so mysterious as to be approaching near mythical status. Zakuulans do like their myths, she’s realised after all these years, and especially the more terrifying, violent ones. This Lady of Sorrows is apparently looking for information on the Outlander, including the whereabouts of their ship- specifically naming it the Gravestone. Considering that nobody should know that Lieca and her team have a new ship worthy of being talked about in the first place, and especially given that to most Zakuulans, the Gravestone is little more than a children’s bedtime story, it’s a pretty concerning breach of security.

Well, she’s pleased to be acknowledged for her skills at slicing, but really, still on Zakuul? When she’s apparently a security risk all by her lonesome now that his Royal Assholeness seems to be fixated on her? Couldn’t Risha and her team have just fixed the ship faster so Lieca’s team could leave and they wouldn’t have to worry about any of this?

Okay, _fine_ , she acknowledges that that is ungrateful and Risha is really trying, but she’s tired and worried and stressed - and if she’s completely honest with herself in the quiet, she’s frightened - and she just wants to be out of this starsforsaken place and never look back.

If she never has to come back to Zakuul ever again, it will be too soon.

She sighs and flicks through her datapad again, idly scrolling the news headlines while her datamine continues processing her search requests.

_“Party of the Year! We Go Inside The Anniversary Celebrations For The Reign Of Emperor Arcann: See What You Really Missed!”_

_“Pop Singer Meghana Nuca Spotted With Emperor Arcann: Our New Empress?”_

_“Emidio Teague Declared Eternal Champion For Fifth Time In A Row - How Does He Do It?”_

_“Power Station Back Online - But Who’s Really To Blame?”_

_“Emperor Arcann Behind Closed Doors - We Speak To His Most Recent Paramour!”_

_“Outlander Lieca Amell Spotted On Zakuul - But Who Is Hiding Her?”_

Calli frowns at her datapad, making a sound of disgust as she tosses it back on her desk. Of course the only information her program keeps finding is the trashy gossip holomags. Honestly, do journalists just have nothing better to do with their days?

She makes note of the article about Lieca’s secret love child hiding on Zakuul though, because despite its premise it’s actually quite hilarious.

Keeping tabs on the Emperor is not as hard as it seems, as long as she takes the time to scroll through the gossip pages - there’s usually some kernel of truth after all. She absolutely does not acknowledge the wide variety of articles crowing about his exploits in the bedroom and his numerous conquests, or how tragic it is that he’s still a bachelor, or all the rumours about secret fiancées or secret weddings or secret children or secret anything. She doesn’t care. At all. He can go get himself off to a sarlaac pit for all she cares.

Stupid asshole. Let him get stuck in a tiny room while people hunt for him next time. And then she’ll stand outside the door and laugh until she’s sick while he can’t leave.

... ugh, she really needs to stop thinking about him.

She thumbs through her datapad distractedly before swapping to the one connected to T7, smiling slightly. The happy little droid is an unfathomable font of enthusiasm and optimism, and always leaves little messages for her at the start of its reports. It’s a nice distraction after the sullen, angry turn her thoughts have been taking all day.

_“Lady of Sorrows = difficult to locate / / Operations base = undetermined”_

She sighs, fingers idling moving over the keys as she types her response. _“The Knights have been looking for her for years, you’ve only had a week hun. Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”_

_“T7 + Calli = unstoppable!”_

She laughs. _“What about Bowdaar?”_

_“T7 + Calli + Bowdaar = best team! / / T7 wouldn’t forget Bowdaar!”_

_“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. I think he likes you best anyway. Let me know when you find anything.”_

_“T7 = not giving up hope!”_

Calli sighs and rubs her forehead, looking up at the sound of her door opening. Bowdaar is standing there holding some sort of tray, growling as he steps forward to place it on her desk.

She frowns, moving her heels off her desk and onto the floor to make room. “Don’t fuss Bowdaar, I’m fine. I’m just not hungry yet.”

He shoots her a look before folding his arms and staring her down.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’ll eat something. Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbles, popping some of the fruit in her mouth. “Do you have anything new for us?”

Bowdaar huffs and nudges the bowl of cereal closer to her elbow, his voice a low roar.

She blinks at him. “The Old World? I thought that was all closed-circuit feeds down there? Mostly entirely separate systems?”

He huffs, nudging the bowl again until she scowls and picks it up.

She angrily moves a spoon of cereal to her mouth, ignoring the warm feeling in her chest from his fussing. “Okay, okay, I get it. Your contacts wouldn’t lie. Alright, should T7 and I head down there to see what we can find?”

He growls, but nods.

Her face flames. “Look, I’m sorry about the other night okay, but I’ll be fine. I promise I won’t let myself be dragged off into any back rooms, alright?”

So her last attempt at a one-night stand to prove that the Emperor had no hold over her whatsoever hadn’t exactly gone well. Since random hookup number one had failed abysmally, given that her partner had elected to try and capture her instead of just keeping his damn mouth shut and enjoying himself, she’d crept from the safe house several nights later with the specific intention of getting laid. She was going stir crazy within the walls of that tiny room, and she needed some goddamn fresh air and some alcohol and at least one orgasm. Sitting in the dark fretting about Lieca and coming up with increasingly horrifying scenarios as to why the Gravestone hadn’t left Zakuul yet was not doing her mood any favours.

The plan was, random hookup number two was supposed to improve her disposition. It did not.

She didn’t have immensely high standards, honestly. She just wanted some stress relief, some fun for a few hours, and irrefutable proof that the Emperor was just a brief lapse of judgement on her part and nothing special. Really, not terribly high goals.

She was still disappointed - both in the sex itself (absolutely terrible, she might as well not have bothered or just bloody well done it herself) and the fact that her chosen bedmate then attempted to kidnap her into his gang or whatever the fuck he did. Something about Zildrog, something about his dad running a cult or something. It wasn’t like she was listening to him at all, just drinking and trying to forget the taste of fancy champagne on her tongue. Trying to forget the sensation of someone else’s tongue. So she’d fucked him and regretted it immediately, because he’d only left her sore and unsatisfied, and then he’d started mumbling drunkenly into the side of her neck about how pretty she was and how it was such a shame that they were handing her over for the reward money.

Couldn’t even give her the courtesy of a goddamn orgasm before letting slip that he was screwing her over for money. _Fuck_.

She’d managed to activate her panic button under the pretense that she was going to the bathroom, and it’d only taken about ten minutes before she’d heard the familiar roar of an enraged wookiee making a bloody path through the idiots apparently guarding the door. She was more pleased when Bowdaar showed up to help her kill her attackers than from anything the idiot boy passed out in the bed did for her. Honestly, why were some people just _so bad_ at sex? Was she just cursed lately or what? She was a nice person. She _deserved_ good sex.

At least Bowdaar didn’t judge her at all. He was upset that she had nearly been hurt, but otherwise completely fine as long as she was happy. But it had led to another uncomfortable conversation about her safety, the result of which had her basically sticking to the house wherever possible, unless accompanied.

At his silent stare she sighs in annoyance, blowing her fringe out of her eyes as she pokes at her bowl of cereal. “Look, we know that nobody down there will be looking for me anyway. Most of the people in that part of town have no interest in contacting Ar-the _Emperor_ about anything, let alone to report fugitives - okay yes, I admit they probably would just for the money but just… argh, okay fine, you can come too. Stop looking at me like that!”

He growls, but seems pleased. Abandoning her breakfast she quickly jumps up and hugs him, apparently startling him by the soft grunt he lets out. “Besides, I always feel better when you’re backing me up anyway,” she says quickly, snuggling into him for a moment. His giant paw messes up her hair as he rubs gently at her head.

He roars softly and she grins, knowing she’d won. “Yeah yeah, I know. No less for family, eh?” she says softly, her smile widening for a moment before she steps away from him and turns back to her datapad. “I’ll just let T7 know to meet us there and we’ll see what we can find.”

Bowdaar growls pointedly and turns to leave to get ready, and she scowls at his back. “ _Yes_ , I’ll finish eating before we go Bowie, fuck you’re persistent!”

He doesn’t need to say anything, but she can still tell he’s rolling his eyes even from the other room as he snorts under his breath.

“Yeah yeah, love you too!” she calls down the hallway, defiantly turning away from her breakfast to start gathering supplies for a recon mission.

The necklace she originally wore to the party is a bit of a risk, but it’s still one of her easiest pieces to use for either slicing or as a weapon, and the high neckline of her jacket helps keep it hidden to avoid attracting unwanted attention. It annoys her how easily it rouses memories in her, memories she absolutely doesn’t want anymore; prior to the night of the party, it had been one of her favourite pieces, practical as well as pretty. But she’ll be damned if she lets that bastard take even an iota more from her than he already has, so she clips it on with hands that absolutely aren’t shaking.

He took her sister. He took her niece’s childhood from her, growing up without her mother. He took her goddamn pride. She is going to wear a pretty goddamn necklace and he can’t stop her.

She makes a mental note to check on her ring again when she returns to the safe house. She’s half-expecting it to end up back on the jeweller’s market, where she’ll be able to claim it as hers again. It’s a pretty useful tracking program in it, and she wouldn’t mind getting it back if she could. In the meantime she’s got the software running at home, to identify when and where it moves, and it should hopefully notify her if something happens.

Ugh, if it ends up in that bloody idiot Markos’ hands she’s going to hit something. That smug bastard has been trying to undercut her for years, and regardless of the fact that the jewellery gig was purely for cover, professional pride demands she not let him win, _damnit_.

At least their trip down to meet T7 in the Old World is essentially uneventful. She knows that Bowdaar isn’t exactly conspicuous, and next to no one will stand near them on the grav trams on the best of days, but lately she’s been feeling the metaphorical target on her back and so blending in is sacrificed for safety. They pay their fares and sit in silence, keeping their heads down and making an effort to not look suspicious; Calli does crosswords on the trip downtown, while Bowdaar browses something on his datapad. Glancing over at the screen, she can see he’s reading over the most recent stock lists for the slave yards, and her heart aches - slavery is a bizarrely new concept to Zakuul, something they’ve picked up from the Sith and the Hutts. Up until now, they’ve always had droids and automated services to provide for them. Slavery, as with everything else in Zakuul, is currently profitable because it’s a _novelty_. It’s _entertainment_.

She reaches over and puts her hand over his, and the rattling of the carriage almost buries the small howl he lets out. Frustrated and mournful. She’s heard that noise far too many in the years since she’s known him.

Maybe when this mess is all over, and Lieca is safely off world, they can go to town on the slave markets downtown. It isn’t like she has to keep her record clean in order to come back here ever again - even better if she’s banned from ever coming back.

But she didn’t say anything now, because it wasn’t safe to talk about it in public. Incognito and all that. She compromises most of the time with him when it comes to using the stealth generator - she can’t live without it, he hates it - and for now, until they get to the Old World, they just have to act casual like normal citizens who totally aren’t criminals helping enemies of the state. Besides, after the last decade or so of working together, her stealth generator is easily configured to help support the one on his belt at the mere touch of a button.

It’s been a few weeks since she’s seen T7 in person, and the flutter in her heart at the sight of the little droid loitering in the shadows outside the grav tram station is unexpected but welcome. T7 is a magnificent droid and quite fond of her whole family. You couldn’t really ask for a more loyal friend - even if poor T7 seemed a little exasperated with Cera’s over-excitable twins sometimes.

T7 cheerfully whistles at her in greeting, gleefully rocking side to side in excitement. _“Calli! / / Bowdaar! / / T7 = happy to see you!”_

She laughs, kneeling down to briefly hug the droid. “It’s good to see you too T7. What have you got for me?”

For a little droid without a face, T7 looks remarkably pleased. _“T7 = tapping Old World surveillance feeds / / Mission = dangerous / / Calli + T7 + Bowdaar = guaranteed success!”_

Calli grins, choosing to ignore the passersby giving odd looks at their strange group. “Just what we want to hear T7! Where’s the nearest console?”

T7 leads them around the corner to a public terminal, splattered liberally with graffiti and the screen all sticky from what she hopes is just spilled drinks, and she attempts to distract herself by trying to outhack the little droid. The networks in the Old World aren’t monitored with anywhere near the same scrutiny that the rest of The Spire is, and it had led to a lot of rather unique private servers piggybacking off the Zakuulan network, or bypassing Zakuul’s internal networks entirely to connect off world. It meant that a lot of the time, there was interesting information to be had if one could be bothered making the trek downtown to physically find it. To her intense amusement, on this occasion T7 clearly lets her win; she has to wonder if Bowdaar or Holiday have been telling people that she’s out of sorts since the party. She gently reminds T7 that she’d rather find the info faster, and not have T7 holding back just to let her have a momentary victory.

The droid seemed a little chagrined at having been caught out, but with that out of the way the data is pulled in half the time. She shakes her head at T7’s somehow vaguely sheepish beeps and whistles.

Bowdaar growls softly in warning and her stealth field shimmers as it activates instantly. T7 starts rolling off in a random direction, just another astromech droid with hacked software doing its own thing, and the skytrooper patrol doesn’t even look twice on their way past.

She huffs and deactivates her generator as T7 starts heading back, a rather disgruntled Bowdaar also deactivating his own field and pushing off the nearby wall.

T7 clicks soothingly before continuing the hack on the console. _“T7 + Calli = almost done!”_

Calli smiles at Bowdaar. “T7’s right. If we can’t find anything soon we’ll have to - hey wait what’s this?”

T7 beeps curiously, still filtering through a pile of data streams and looking for information on either the Outlander or the Lady of Sorrows.

Calli shrugs, her fingers flying over the keys of the console. “Hey Bowie, looks like you’ve got another few bars streaming the fights without paying for it,” she says distractedly while Bowdaar roars behind her. “What about you T7?”

_“Heralds of Zildrog + Lady of Sorrows = friends? / / T7 = downloading files now.”_

Calli pauses, and then groans. “Heralds of Zildrog, that was the name,” she says. “Just my fucking luck.” At T7’s worried beep, she rushes to reassure him. “No, no, you did great. Nice work T7. I’m just going to see if I can find anything about the alerts on Lieca.”

Bowdaar huffs a warning and she waves him off, shooting him a look to point out she doesn’t exactly want to have to try to explain her latest embarrassment to the droid. “Relax, it’ll be fine. I’m just curious to see who’s-oh _fuck_.”

The nearest alarm starts blaring, the light blazing red while a klaxon sounds, and Calli curses, stepping back from the console. “There’s no fucking way, nobody’s data is that secure! Hidden traps in the outer codes, who _does_ that?”

Bowdaar growls, folding his arms, and T7 rolls back, apparently locked out of the system too.

_“Alarms = activated / / Patrol = incoming / / T7 + Calli + Bowdaar = prepare to fight?”_

Calli curses again, moving her hand to her blaster on her hip. But before she can snarl an angry response towards the incoming patrol, the holoprojector in the console flickers to life, revealing a droid she had personally been hoping to never see again. _“Callistra. It’s really been too long.”_

She swears, loudly. “Fucking hell, SCORPIO? What are you doing here?”

_“My my, you don’t seem at all pleased to see me. Such a shame, as you were putting so much effort into finding me?”_

She curses louder. ” _You’re_ the Lady of Sorrows? Ugh, how did I not see this coming.”

SCORPIO sighs. “ _It does not surprise me that your inferior intellect prevented you from reaching that conclusion._ ”

Calli frowns, shifting her pistol into her hand and nonchalantly checking the barrel. “Does Saria know you’re here?”

“ _Perhaps a question that will be answered in a more private setting._ ”

Calli sighs as the droid’s team advances on them, obviously outnumbering them by a significant margin; she’s surprised to see a nautolan leading them, as the casually xenophobic attitude of most Zakuulans tends to be too off putting for aliens. She shifts her pistol back to her hip, casually hitting the distress beacon in her wristband as she does so. “You make your point quite clearly,” she says dryly, gesturing for Bowdaar and T7 to stand down too.

They don’t confiscate their weapons, which seems to be a risky move - either that or SCORPIO is attempting to extend some measure of courtesy to them. Given that they were apprehended by armed mercs, if it’s courtesy, SCORPIO has a weird way of showing it. She hears some talk amongst the mercs about whether or not it would be appropriate to blindfold them, so they can’t see the location of the base, and she snarls so violently at them that one of them squawks in alarm.

“No blindfolds,” she hisses, hoping they’ll take her bright red face to just be a sign of anger. “SCORPIO wants to talk, we talk as equals.”

They look to the nautolan, who studies her for a moment before shrugging. With the matter seemingly closed, they hustle them deeper into the broken, ruined parts of the Old World, and into the Lady of Sorrows’ territory.

It seems no time at all before they are escorted into SCORPIO’s presence, the interior of the apartment complex far more luxurious and technologically fitted than the outside hinted at. There were multiple spas on the terrace - multiple. What the hell would a droid want a spa for? Calli continues to fiddle with her armbands, feigning nerves, but actually to adjust the panic signal to ‘ _still alive, wait until told or no response_ ’ as they go further into the stronghold.

SCORPIO’s glowing eyes flick dismissively over Bowdaar and T7 before focusing on Calli, who feels slightly unnerved at that golden stare. “Callistra Amell,” SCORPIO greets, managing to sound dry and scornful at the same time.

Calli decides politeness isn’t really going to get them anywhere here. “What the fuck do you want SCORPIO?”

The droid seems amused. “You are the one who was looking for me, Callistra.”

She folds her arms, still fiddling with her armband. “ _You_ are looking for my _sister_.”

The droid chuckles, and it makes her skin crawl. “Am I?”

Calli frowns. “SCORPIO, what do you want?”

The droid’s eyes light up. “I wish to speak to the Gravestone.”

Calli blinks. “What?”

SCORPIO hums, amused again. “Do not pretend you do not know of which I speak, Callistra. Your ignorance is usually understandable, but in this matter it would be ridiculous.”

She huffs. “I am _not_ ridiculous,” she scowls, feeling slightly hurt. “Why do you think I have anything to do with this ‘ _Gravestone_ ’ anyway?”

SCORPIO merely stares at her for a few long moments until Calli starts to shift her weight, feeling uncomfortable. It’s only when she’s noticeably fidgeting that the droid then speaks. “I look forward to communicating with an intelligence that rivals my own for a change.”

T7 beeps briefly, the sound concerned; Calli quickly reaches out a hand to reassure the droid, smoothing a hand comfortingly over the flat top panel in something akin to a pat. “Okay, well, have fun with that, I guess?” she says hesitantly, not sure what else to say to that. There’s only so long she can bullshit her way through this, because they both know that she knows about the Gravestone, so... “If I see any ships called ‘ _Gravestone_ ’, I’ll point them your way.”

The way the droid smirks is completely unnerving - droids should not be able to make that sort of expression. “I did not say it was a ship, Callistra,” SCORPIO says.

Ah, fuck. “I mean, I was just taking a guess-”

SCORPIO stares at her, before sighing in short-tempered exasperation. “You will take me to your Alliance, and I will speak to the Gravestone,” the droid says with a note of finality, before pausing. “And in return, I will stop the Heralds of Zildrog before they burn down your apartment.”

Calli stiffens instantly as Bowdaar roars, shooting a nasty look at the droid. “That would be appreciated,” she snarls through gritted teeth.

She gets the impression that SCORPIO would be smiling broadly if the metal face allowed it. “Wonderful. Then we shall go.”

She scowls at the droid, fighting back the urge to make a rude gesture, while Bowdaar grumbles another enquiry. “Yeah, what Bowie said! So, what, you’re joining us, just like that? What about the Emperor? Are you going to fight with us too, or just sit and talk to a ship all day?”

SCORPIO’s eyes glint dangerously. “The Emperor has something of mine. The severity of his error must be corrected.”

Calli’s mind jumps back to the giant pile of information stolen from Ar-the _Emperor’s_ personal computers. She has a feeling she knows exactly what SCORPIO is looking for.

Only time will tell how more difficult this makes everything.


	5. Odessen

Theron sighs and runs his hands over his eyes for the fifth time this hour, desperately trying to stop them from closing. He’s put off these reports for way too long, but he just can’t _focus_.

Lieca is alive and safe and well and so much closer to being home compared to the last five years, but he still can’t sleep for worry. He understands that it’s for her safety that the Gravestone is maintaining radio silence except for Holiday’s sporadic updates, he really does, but it’s still driving him crazy not to hear from her. It’s been over two weeks since they rescued her from Arcann’s prison, and the Gravestone _still_ isn’t up and running so the team is still stranded there.

Even Calli and her team made it off Zakuul before Lieca’s team - which is of course great, given how close Calli came to having her cover blown, but he really wishes she hadn’t had to bring SCORPIO with them.

And _then_ , as if it wasn’t bad enough fretting over the fact that they were taking longer and longer to make a break for safety, they made the decision to send Senya in for added security, and someone made the super smart decision to have Thexan pilot the stealth shuttle through the Endless Swamps to drop her off. It makes sense, he’s a trained tactical pilot and he’s lived most of his life on Zakuul, but it stings a little that he can just zip in and out like it’s no big deal. Plus, Ona’la was unbearably worried while he was gone, and that made everyone more anxious in general.

And then _of course_ the Gravestone team were attacked while Senya was rushing to assist, and they’re even more at risk now and he just, he _worries_.

Also, he knows what he wants and he’s fairly certain he knows what _Lieca_ wants, but five years apart is a long time for doubt and guilt and panic to set in. He knows if he could just see her and talk to her that everything would be okay, but for now he’s just stewing in his own head.

And then she sent a letter to her daugher, hesitant and shy and full of love and Flissa’s smile was almost blinding - and a small part of him that he would never give voice to is hurt that he didn’t get a letter too. It’s not the same thing at all - Flissa is her _daughter_ , of course she gets priority, and he’s not going to take that away from her. But he’s still here too, and it would be nice to have a little acknowledgement to starve off the constant streams of self-doubt in his head about whether the woman he had feelings for and was with five years ago was even still interested - or just wanted to go back to being friends.

Of course that’s not really the main concern of anyone else, which it absolutely shouldn’t be - that would be very weird - and in fairness he is actually far more worried about Lieca and her health than anything. Cera has been amazing over the last five years, both forcing him to look after himself and reassuring him about her sister constantly. Watching Cera fading over the last year in particular has been absolutely terrifying, as he knew even without her needing to tell him outright that it was her connection to Lieca that was slowly draining her.

He might not be a Jedi, but he’s spent enough time around them over the years to know exactly what it means when one member of a Force-bonded pair starts deteriorating for no discernable reason. And even if it was years ago now, he spent enough time with Lieca to be able to tell when she was hiding something like that, and her twin is no different.

Stars, he’s completely lost count of the amount of times Lieca all but gave him a heart attack over the years, running headfirst into danger to defend someone else without questioning it, or putting her life on the line to protect anyone who needed it. Even long before they officially got together, she’d been driving him crazy with the risks she took. They only became friends after she was shielding all those Jedi and became the Barsen’thor, but he heard enough stories from Ona’la and Kira to know what was happening behind the scenes.

Cera, he’s learned, is just as bad at taking on everyone else’s troubles and trying to hide how it affects her as Lieca wa- _is_.

But spending so much time around Lieca’s twin sister is also painful, as it’s a reminder of what he’s lost. She’s a wonderful woman and he’s confident he can say she’s a friend too, but he’d be lying if he tried to say he wasn’t bitterly jealous watching her live her life with her husband and children, while Flissa grows up without Lieca and he’s left awkwardly hanging on the outside like he’s not quite got a seat at the table. And as the weeks trickle into months and then years, and his memory starts to blur a little around the edges, he’s starting to picture Cera’s face instead of Lieca’s. He has to keep telling himself the differences between them to try to focus - once upon a time he wouldn’t have had any trouble at all telling them apart, but now?

He frowns and pinches his nose, giving up on that report for lost and just sitting with his head in his hands.

She is _safe_ , she is _alive_ , she is coming _home_ , she’ll be here _soon_ \- it’s a mantra he repeats to himself over and over in the desperate hope it will make the time go faster. He can’t do anything to speed up the process, so he just needs to help the Alliance in other ways.

He’s already waited five years, what’s another few weeks - at least he knows she’s far safer this time.

“Theron?”

He whirls around, knocking three datapads off his desk in his surprise, and blinks rapidly at the sleepy-looking figure of Lieca’s young daughter standing in the doorway. She’s barefoot, wearing some kind of adorable pyjama set in purple that has a cartoonishly chubby dewback on the shirt - also in purple. He’s pretty sure dewbacks don’t come in purple. Pretty sure. “Oh, uh, hey Flissa,” he says awkwardly. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

She shoots him a look that - despite her eyes being dark brown instead of blue - could not match her mother’s more if she tried. “Shouldn’t _you_?” she says haughtily, with all the lofty confidence of her eight years, crossing her arms in front of her as she walks towards him. Her hair is tied back in what looks like a thousand little braids, some far messier than others, and they swing as she walks.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Yes, but _I’m_ not the one with a set bedtime,” he mutters, leaning over to pick up the datapads. Just as he’s about to grab one they all start to move, and he barely bites back a curse as all the datapads levitate out of reach of his hands, moving back on top of his desk untouched.

Flissa is standing there with her hands outstretched, an adorable look of concentration on her face, and she grins happily when all the datapads settle. “Too slow, Theron,” she says cheekily, looking delighted.

He shakes his head ruefully, sitting back upright again. “Force-users, always trying to make fun of the rest of us,” he jokes, before tilting his head at her. “What are you doing here?”

Her expression fades. “Can’t sleep,” she says crossly, tucking an escaped dark brown curl behind her ear and stopping in front of his desk. She has her father’s genes, her skin a soft, warm brown, but her face is so very much like her mother. “What about you? Aunty Cera says you need to sleep more.”

He sighs. “Can’t sleep either kiddo,” he admits. “So, what’s your excuse?”

She bites her lip and looks away, suddenly looking anxious.

“Flissa?”

She turns back to him, her eyes wide and serious. “I’m worried about Mama,” she says quietly.

The little Jedi-in-training looks so lost it just about breaks his damn heart. She’s far too young to have so much pain on her shoulders. “What about your mother, Fliss?”

She looks away again, seemingly gathering her courage, and he wisely waits rather than push her. “Mama sent a letter,” she says, sniffing, and Theron tries not to wince at the reminder. “She says she’ll be home soon and she loves me and I _miss_ her and and it’s been _ages_.”

She looks at him, dark brown eyes swimming with tears as her lip trembles. “Why won’t she come home now? What if… what if I’m too different? What if Mama doesn’t know me? What if she doesn't love me anymore?” she whispers, sounding heartbroken and terrified.

Theron’s own heart breaks for her and he moves off his chair to kneel down in front of her. “Oh sweetheart, of course your mum loves you,” he says quietly.

She bursts into tears and moves forward to cry into his shoulder. He awkwardly shifts his arms around her while she babbles against him.

Cera and Doc had officially raised Flissa after Lieca was captured and imprisoned. He and Lieca might have been together at the time of her disappearance, but it certainly didn’t mean he’d wanted to be solely responsible for her beloved daughter. He can’t imagine much more of a disaster than him trying to raise a kid on his own. Not to say that he wouldn’t want to raise her, because of course Flissa and Lieca were a package deal and if he wanted a life with Lieca then that meant growing up a little and working out how this whole parenting thing went, but he wasn’t going to pretend for even a minute that he was qualified or anything. And those dreams of a life together didn’t really amount to much when one of the three of them was in prison.

But he’s spent a lot of time with their family over the years - hell, he must have known the twins for, what, nine years now?- and Flissa and her cousins are used to having him around. He always feels particularly awkward around Flissa though, fully aware that in another life, if things had gone well, he could’ve been her stepfather. He doesn’t want to just assume his role in her life based on _whatifs_ and _maybes_ from five or six years ago.

And despite being mostly raised by her aunt, Flissa’s mannerisms are so much like her mother it almost hurts to be around her sometimes. She might have her dad’s colouring, but in temperament she was essentially her mother in miniature.

Even though she had a whole family looking after her these last few years, he knows it's been hard for her being without her parents. Having her mum locked up and her dad trapped on Balmorra with his new family wouldn’t exactly have been fun for Flissa. Felix had been involved in her life quite a lot when she was a toddler, but after the placement of the Star Fortress over the skies of Balmorra, he had been unable to leave and it isn’t safe for her to go to him; the Exarch of Balmorra, a woman known as Malforia, is a fanatical and violent warrior, and there have been numerous times when Felix and his wife have had to relocate without much warning to avoid her wrath. He still calls for Flissa whenever he is safe to talk, but it’s not the same as seeing him in person.

Which leaves Theron - awkward and unsure of what exactly his relationship with the poor girl is supposed to be, friend or cool uncle or maybe even stepfather.

Ugh, but he’s getting lost in his own head again. He mentally shakes himself, and continues rubbing Flissa’s back while she sniffles against his shoulder, murmuring soft reassurances to try to calm her down.

She eventually pulls back a bit, still sniffing and rubbing her eyes and his heart breaks again for her. “Hey, hey Flissa, it’s okay,” he says, gently rubbing her shoulder. “Of course your mum still loves you - how could she not be blown away by such an amazing girl as you? Yes, things have changed, but she’ll be so proud of you. You’ll see.”

She sniffs loudly, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I know,” she says, her little face all sticky with tears and snot. “Sometimes I can feel her, I think? Aunty Cera says she can feel her and that she helps her. I want to help too, but I can’t find her.”

He frowns. “Wait, you can look for her? How?”

She shoots him a flat look, shifting her hands to her hips. “The Force, Theron,” she says, her tone definitely conveying the ‘ _duh_!’ even if she didn’t vocalise it.

He sighs, resting his arm on his knee and looking down at the ground in defeat. “And again, shot down by the Force-users. You know, not everyone knows the things you do,” he scolds lightly, tweaking her nose.

She bats him away, looking offended, but definitely in a lighter mood now, so he counts it as a success. “But you should. Uncle Archie says you were raised by Jedi too.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “You know, maybe if you spent more time listening to your aunt instead of gossiping with your uncle you would earn more lessons with Ona’la.”

Flissa frowns. “I like Miss Ona’la,” she says primly. “But she has very important things to do with her day and she doesn’t have time to give everyone private lessons all the time,” she continues in a sing-song voice, clearly repeating a lesson her aunt had tried to drill into her.

Theron sighs and nods. “Exactly. And don’t you have a lesson with Ona’la in the morning? So you should get to sleep.”

Flissa’s frown deepens. “No, she has the twins in the morning. And I don’t wanna go back to bed,” she says petulantly.

Theron raises his eyebrow higher, shifting with a groan to get back into his chair. “Well, I’m just looking at reports here, which is pretty boring stuff,” he says before looking at her slyly. If she’s refusing to sleep she might as well help. “Not something I think a kid like you would be into. Sleep would be more fun.”

She frowns back, moving over to poke the datapads with her fingers. “Nicola snores too much cause she’s sick and she has a stuffed nose,” she sulks, before looking at him suspiciously. “And Thexan says you’re not allowed to try to trick us kids into doing your work for you. I’m not dumb!”

Theron coughs. “I have no idea what you mean,” he says with false innocence. And then to himself, he mutters “He’s only been back for one day and he’s already judging me.”

“He’s just worried about his brother - wasn't the King’s Ransom the treasure ship Uncle Geralt found?”

The abrupt change in conversation topics startles him; he turns back to Flissa, who’s holding one of his datapads and avidly reading it, and scowls. “We’re _all_ worried about his brother,” he says in annoyance, reaching over to take it back. “And _you_ are snooping. Besides, you know Uncle Geralt always exaggerates his role in anything.”

She scowls back, folding her arms. “Not the same worry as everyone else,” she mutters. “He wants to talk to Aunty Calli about him cause they’re both back.”

“Who, Geralt?”

“No, Thexan. Why is Holiday telling you about Miss Senya?”

He blinks and realises she somehow got another datapad without him noticing. “Why does Thexan want to talk to Calli? And kindly stop reading my reports.”

Flissa wrinkles her nose. “Hutts are weird,” she says, passing his datapad back.

“I’m telling Oggurobb you said that,” he cautions, grinning teasingly at her flustered look.

She rubs her eyes, yawning. “He won't believe you,” she says innocently. “Do you know why Aunty Calli’s been in a bad mood since she got back?”

He shrugs, not exactly willing to share his suspicions with her eight year old niece. “Your aunt is always in a bad mood with me,” he deflects, clearly not fooling her for a second from her look. “And you should really be back in bed young lady.”

“That’s because you're always mean to each other. And I don't want to.”

He sighs and moves to kneel down in front of her again before turning his back to her. “Okay, what if I give you a lift? That sound fair?”

His answer is two little arms around his neck. “Yes please, Theron,” she says shyly.

He grunts as he stands, trying to adjust for the additional weight on his back and tucking his arms under her legs to support her a little more. “No telling your cousins you got a piggyback ride okay, I'll never hear the end of it.”

She nods, finally seeming drowsy again as she yawns. “Pinky promise,” she says, both of them moving one hand to enable him to lock pinkies with her and seal it.

He readjusts her position on his back and rolls onto the balls of his feet briefly to check his balance before he starts walking back to her room. “How did you get here without any of the guards seeing you anyway?”

She yawns again, nestling into the back of his neck. “I’m sneaky.”

He instantly recalls several instances that would prove the exact opposite, and frowns. “So when you got caught stealing cookies yesterday?”

“You told on us,” she murmurs, arms loosening as she starts to doze off. “You cheated.”

He chuckles, shifting his grip to compensate for her movement. “Of course. I wanted all the cookies for myself.”

She giggles tiredly against his back, but doesn’t say anything else before she falls asleep on the way back to her room.

Theron frowns at the doorpad, wondering how exactly he’s going to input the security key and not drop Flissa, when the door suddenly opens to reveal a very unimpressed and tired looking Cera, who frowns at him.

Her eyes are a little dull from lack of sleep, but she smiles at seeing Flissa. “Ah, I figured she went looking for you. Poor hun.”

He grunts in response and she smoothly steps aside to let him in. He chuckles under his breath in amusement as he realises Nicola is indeed snoring, and her twin Rianna is crushing a pillow to her ears in the nearest bed.

Between the two of them they get Flissa gently tucked back into bed, and to his surprise Cera gestures for him to follow her rather than just shooing him out.

She pounces on him almost as soon as they’re out of earshot, grabbing his sleeve. “How is she?”

He shrugs, running his hand over his face. “Worried about her mum. I don't know if she’s feeling it herself or picking up something from you, but she can definitely tell something’s been not quite right. Have you told her what’s going on?”

The look Cera gives him matches Flissa’s flat look from earlier. “Yes, because that will just go swimmingly - ‘ _hi Flissa, I know you're already worried and scared about your mum, but did you know she was actually dying and that's why I've been so tired lately because it was nearly killing me too_ ’?”

Theron winces. “Okay, that's a good point, but she clearly suspects something, and... wait, you’re okay now, right?”

She waves her hand in front of her face. “I’m better,” she says vaguely. At his slightly panicked look, she sighs. “We’re _both_ fine, Theron. I just need time to recover from sustaining her for so long, and in theory, now that she’s out of the poisonous carbonite, I should have that time.” She hesitates, and then mutters “If she could stop shouting apologies at me, that would also be fantastic, but then she wouldn't be Lieca.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re still shielding her, aren’t you?”

She raises an eyebrow right back at him, but her posture turns defensive. “What?”

“Call it a hunch. That, and you make the same face she does when you’re lying and doing something self-sacrificing and reckless and-”

She cuts him off by touching his arm again. “Theron, I swear it’s fine,” she says gently. “She just needs time. If she wants to hide behind me for a bit while she tries to cope with how much time she’s lost, that’s fine with me.”

He growls in frustration, running his hand through his hair for a moment before turning back to her. “But she’s okay, right?” he asks quietly.

Cera’s smile is sad. “As okay as she can be when her head doesn’t belong to her anymore,” she says, just as quietly.

A shiver runs down Theron’s spine at the thought. Cera had known almost instantly that Valkorion had somehow found a way into her twin’s mind when she’d been taken prisoner; according to her, the sensation had been remarkably similar to when Vitiate had tried to possess her all those years ago, only muted, as if she could see it happening through a frosted glass pane without being able to make out the finer details. She hadn’t ever described it in detail, but it had been obvious from her clipped, precise wording and short temper that the experience and the memories were not pleasant in the slightest, and as much as he’d felt for Cera, having to relive her greatest nightmare by proxy, it made it so much worse knowing what Lieca was trapped with and being unable to intervene.

Last time, the two of them combined had been strong enough to resist him, and Lieca had been able to shield Cera long enough for her to escape. This time they’d had no warning, and with Lieca out of commission, blindsided and dying of carbonite poisoning, they had not been able to stop him gaining a foothold in her mind.

Cera had only told the highest levels of command in the Alliance - the last thing they wanted was a panic that the woman they were trying to rescue might be possessed by the former Sith Emperor. Cera had insisted that he wasn’t able to control Lieca outright, but was definitely hiding in her mind, and had been trying to corrupt her for years.

But Theron worries, and he wants Lieca to be safe and home, and he knows it’s not going to be that easy but it’s still driving him crazy that she’s not here-

“Hey, Theron?”

He blinks and refocuses to see Cera looking at him in concern, though her expression softens when he looks back at her. “She’ll be home soon. The Gravestone is nearly repaired and they’ll be on their way. And Senya’s with them now too in case any other patrols show up. Just a little longer, okay?”

He laughs hollowly. “It’s been five years, what’s a few more weeks?” he says quietly, repeating his thoughts from earlier.

Cera sighs. “You’re telling me. Go get some sleep Theron,” she says quietly, patting his arm again before moving back towards the girls’ room.


	6. Gravestone II

_“And I know my princess loves me, oh I know this every day!”_

Lieca looks up in amusement at the sound of Geralt’s ridiculously off-key singing while she soothes the Force over Risha’s battered, arthritic fingers. The mechanically-minded princess smiles at her old friend, flicking her fingers back and forth to test them after the swelling in her knuckles fades. “Thanks hun, I appreciate it,” she says sweetly, shooting a glare at her operatic husband.

Lieca smiles. “It’s no trouble, Risha. Makes me feel useful, at least - so much of what you’re doing here is completely beyond me. Bringing a ship back to life, after it’s been rotting in a swamp for a millenia? You’re doing something amazing here.”

Risha blinks at her, but smiles genuinely. “Don’t worry, the Gravestone will be done soon. A few weeks behind schedule, yes, but it’s all coming together now.”

“I’m not worried.” Lieca looks over her shoulder at Geralt, whose singing is only increasing in volume the longer Risha ignores him. He’s currently hanging off a door frame, arm outstretched as if appealing to an invisible audience. “Geralt, have you had any luck sourcing that part we need for the hyperdrive?”

He goes quiet, his face instantly serious. “No luck so far,” he says, dropping off of the door frame. “I’ve got Port Nowhere pushing on them hard, but they just won’t budge on risking running it through Zakuulan customs. I’m trying, but we don’t have enough on them to force the issue. If I was there in person, I’d probably be able to close the deal and do the run past the Fleet myself, but...” He shrugs, as if to point out the futility of the situation.

Lieca sighs and Risha makes a frustrated noise. “I’m almost done with all of the other repairs, and the rest of the ship is almost completely functional. Life support’s good, weapons - or, at least I think weapons are good, I still don’t get that cannon thing that Koth loves. There’s really not much else I can do without that missing section of the hyperdrive - and without it, we basically can’t leave, as we’ll only be able to make one jump, and we can’t afford to lead the Eternal Fleet to Odessen.”

Geralt huffs, equally frustrated. “I’m _aware_ , sweetheart,” he says dryly. “I’m trying.”

Lieca holds her hands up for calm before the two can get into another argument. “Okay, well, I’m going to go check on Lana. Will you two be okay here?” With tempers running thin throughout the ship, the last thing she needs is an already explosive combination at the best of times to blow up at each other.

Geralt’s pale blue eyes reveal nothing suspicious, but Risha’s glint with mischief. “We’ll be fine, Lieca. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

The Jedi nods politely, happy to take the hint and quickly vacating the room before Geralt starts outrageously hitting on his wife again. It is always nigh on impossible to tell with those two if they are about to start cooing obnoxiously at each other or throwing food scraps into each others’ hair. She would never understand their dynamic, honestly.

It doesn’t take her long to find the room which Lana has claimed as her own training space, entirely unsurprised to see her attacking the training dummy with gusto. Lieca folds her arms as she walks into the room, shooting an unimpressed look at the wound on Lana’s midsection. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

The Sith returns her look, and Lieca admits to herself that the golden stare makes hers far more intimidating. “I will be fine, Lieca,” she grouses before pausing. “But your concern is appreciated.”

Lieca nods in acknowledgement before turning to Lana’s left where Senya is sitting, a datapad in her lap. “I said the same thing,” she says in amusement, likewise earning a glare from Lana.

The two women have an interesting rapport, and she has to admit that she’s curious about their history together. The former Knight of Zakuul had recently joined them on the Gravestone, luckily thwarting a Skytrooper patrol in the process. Lana had been injured in the attack ( _your fault you know_ ; I thought I told you to _go away_ ) and everyone had been rather on edge since - the risk of another attack was increasing by the day.

She likes Senya - she seems a little stern but is overall quite pleasant company. Finding out that she was Valkorion’s ex-wife and Emperor Arcann’s mother had been a bit of a troublesome surprise, but she was trying not to make a big deal over it. Senya was not defined by the actions of her children, nor was she at fault for falling under the sway of a man who used her love and loyalty to trap her in a poisonous snare. She thinks of Flissa, and the intense depths of her love for her daughter - she can’t imagine the strength it would take to willingly turn against her own child.

Her heart aches for Senya, even if she knows better than to bring it up so quickly into their acquaintance.

There is hope, however, and a sliver of happiness waiting to be found - according to the galactic updates that Lana and Geralt had been giving her, one of Senya’s children was able to escape from their awful father. Apparently Arcann’s twin Thexan - thought dead by Zakuul but actually rescued by what would eventually become the Alliance - was happily married to her dear old friend Ona’la, and currently living on Odessen with Cera and the rest of her family, working to support the Alliance.

Stars, she can't wait to meet Ona’la’s daughters - she’s sure they’re both absolutely gorgeous children - but it’s just another reminder of how much has changed while she’s been gone. Hearing Geralt prattle on happily about Flissa playing with Ona’la’s daughters in the Alliance creche... it hurts as much as it helps.

Shaking herself free of her introspective thoughts, Lieca smiles at Senya in greeting, gesturing at Lana to sit nearby. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she says, pulling up an empty kolto barrel and sitting beside Lana, before directing the Force over her wound, “how did you know to come and find us?”

Senya seems amused at Lana’s annoyed scowl, and she coughs a laugh at her pained expression when Lieca presses against the tender muscle. “We have the coordinates for the ship, my dear - the repairs have been in progress for quite some time now. Based on some of the intelligence reports coming out of the Spire, your sister suspected you might need backup more... _familiar_ with the Knights. I don’t really have anything to do on Odessen, so I thought joining you would be the best use of me. Thexan dropped me off nearby so as not to draw attention to the ship - luckily meaning we saw the patrol before they got much closer.”

Her expression then thins. “The fact that Knights of Zakuul suspect enough to be down here in the first place means we are running out of time, though. And someone will notice when they do not return.”

Lieca sighs, releasing Lana and gesturing for her to lie down nearby, to give the healing time to settle more deeply into the tissue; she complies with a scowl. “I know. Risha still needs a few parts but I don’t think we have that long. Options?”

Koth enters the room, wiping his hands on the rag he’s been cleaning his tools with. “The ship should be capable of making at least one jump,” he says hesitantly, waving in vague greeting. “If the smugglers can’t get the parts to us, we could meet them somewhere else?”

Senya looks thoughtful. “I had been trying to reach out to the Scions,” she says quietly. “They do not follow Arcann, and I believe they are interested in meeting you. We could take the Gravestone to their sanctuary?”

Lana makes a disgruntled noise. “You want us to go to _Asylum_?” she asks, the tone of her voice enough to let everyone know the poor regard she holds this ‘ _asylum_ ’ in.

Lieca raises an eyebrow, but Senya nods before explaining the mystery to her. “It is a safe haven from Arcann’s patrols - a mining port, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and relatively lawless. The Eternal Empire does not waste resources patrolling every single dock and warehouse in the galaxy, and Asylum is no different.”

“It is a lawless hive of the worst kind of scum and immoral villains who would turn us over for the reward as soon as blink at us,” Lana snaps.

“There’s few safer locations to repair the ship within range of a single jump,” Senya points out. “And we can’t take it back to Odessen to finish the repairs or we’ll lead the Eternal Fleet straight to our door and be unable to fight back.”

Lieca looks at Lana, who sighs as if in exasperation before nodding. “It is the safest option I can think of,” she says before smiling grimly. “However, as soon as we power up the ship and try to leave Zakuul, I’m almost positive they’ll notice us down here. Even the most basic planetary sensor readings will show an unexplained power surge in this area, and with a patrol missing in the same region of swamps, someone will put two and two together. We won’t get a second chance at this.”

Lieca is quiet for a moment, but looks back down the hall. “If Risha says the ship is capable of making the jump, I believe her,” she says firmly. “We should call the others together so we can all decide.”

Lana grunts in annoyance. “I wasn’t aware this was a democracy,” she grumbles, but Lieca just smiles.

“I believe we’ve had that conversation before.”

Before long the entire team is gathered in the main room, and it’s somewhat humbling to see the array of people who have all come together with one goal - to see her safely home. Risha has a smear of grease on her cheek, and Geralt is lounging as if determined to be the centre of attention at any cost. Lana limps in with assistance from Senya, and the refugees she saved earlier hover at the back of the room, as if unsure of their place. Koth has his arms crossed, his body language almost defensive, as if he’s expecting an argument, and Major Pierce lurks behind HK-55, his blaster rifle held somewhat ominously as he squints out of the window into the gloom of the swamp.

The Imperial soldier had been the one to carry her out the vault while the antidote had worked its way through her system, sent by the former Emperor’s Wrath to protect her wife Lana during the rescue attempt. According to Lana, Darth Jezhara had willingly left the Empire with her when the Alliance was founded, and had reassigned her loyal lieutenant to Lord Dara for his protection and ongoing employment within the Empire. But Jezhara and Pierce remained good friends, and when Lana needed assistance, he had quickly volunteered to help Jezhara out by defending her wife. Who better to assist with a deep cover extraction and prison break with radio silence than a former black ops leader, after all?

Lieca remembers him from the shaky coalition on Yavin 4 - which, if she’s honest, seems to have been the precursor for this alliance in many ways,- and the man’s gruff persona doesn’t appear to have changed in the last five years. Pierce seems to be wary of the HK unit, but clearly addresses Lieca when he speaks. “The perimeter remains secure - what’s this about?”

Lieca nods politely. “Thank you Major, HK. We wanted to discuss moving the Gravestone to another location to source the final part required for the hyperdrive - it’s risky, but the longer we stay here, the greater the risk of our discovery by the Eternal Throne.”

Pierce frowns. “So, what you’re saying is that we’re leaving and you just wanted to what, politely ask our opinions first or something?”

Lieca winces and one of the refugees clears her throat nervously. “Can - um, can the ship even fly?” she asked hesitantly, her skepticism very evident as she looks around at the ancient interior of the Gravestone.

Risha snorts indignantly. “Of course it can fly, what do you think I’ve been doing all these months away from my kids, playing dejarik?”

“It’s going to be extremely dangerous,” Lana says loudly, throwing Risha a pointed look, “and the Eternal Fleet will probably be waiting for us, but it will fly, yes. We have been avoiding powering up the ship for a reason - as soon as we do, any one of their scanners will spot us.”

Pierce seems about to sneer a reply but Risha speaks up first again, clearly agitated. “Look, you guys can fight over our destination all you want, but I’ve done all I can here - I can’t do anything else without that hyperdrive part. The gun is near useless too, and I’m far less willing to test that since I don’t exactly trust some mythical weapon called an ‘ _omnicannon_ ’.”

“ _Hey_!” Koth says, straightening his shoulders. “You don’t see me go mocking your shitty Dubrillion myths.”

“Uh, yeah, that would be pointless, our gods are assholes anyway.” She shrugs. “You have a culture ruled by treacherous, thuggish pirate kings, your myths ain’t exactly gonna be gentle kid’s stories.”

Geralt steps up behind her, looking unusually serious as he stares at Pierce. “ _And_ ,” he says loudly, apparently trying to steer the conversation back towards more sensible waters, “I can find the part we need for the hyperdrive, but I can’t get it here without being detected and the seller won’t budge on trying to run the risk of bribes.”

Risha speaks again, folding her arms. “The ship will be able to make one jump. After that, who knows?”

Pierce makes an exaggerated noise of disgust as he rolls his eyes, tucking his hands behind his head. “Sounds like a whole bunch of ifs and whats and maybes to-”

A loud klaxon type alarm begins to blare in the background, and they all spin to face the console, where a large red light is flashing ominously. “What’s that?” Lieca asks, a spike of nerves in her gut.

Risha grimaces. “ _That_ would be the outer perimeter sensors,” she says, shooting a death glare at Pierce. “Looks like the time for discussions and group input is over.”

HK speaks first, the droid’s processing power far more easily able to convert the data on the console into useable information. “Clarification: Scores of hostiles detected, just passing through the outer sensors. There are several squads of skytroopers and a Zakuulan walker. Caution: It is likely that they are led by at least one Knight of Zakuul. ”

Lana steps forward, grimacing as the movement twinges her side; she pulls out her lightsaber before looking at Senya. “It seems they finally noticed the previous patrol never returned.”

Senya pulls out her own lightsaber, expression grim. “We expected as much. Arcann has always been thorough.”

HK sounds almost gleeful. “Query: Do we fight?”

Lieca hisses in pain, pushing back the pressure in her skull for a moment; things stutter and slow around her, as if time is trying to slow to a halt, but she presses back until colour returns to the scene. “It seems we don’t have a choice,” she says quietly, before turning to their non-Force users. “Kestra, you and your people stay here, and keep out of sight. Risha, Geralt, Koth - do what you can to get the ship moving. The rest of us will go outside to defend the ship.”

Risha clicks her tongue in annoyance. “I suspect we’ll need help getting the ship out of the swamp - the engines are damn powerful, but a few centuries worth of mud dragging it under has been a bit hard to clean up even with the few months we’ve had.”

Lieca nods. “We’ll do what we can once we’re outside. Pierce, HK - I’ll need you two to run interference. See if you can try to keep the patrols from heading directly our way. If we need all three of us to help lift the ship, we can’t be distracted by gunfire.”

The alarms blare again for a moment as Risha, Geralt and Koth leave the room and HK speaks again. “Explanation: That would be the inner perimeter sensors. One squad of skytroopers has been sent to investigate. Amendment: The remaining enemies are staying near the outer sensors. Three Knights have been detected, though they seem to be trying to stay out of range.”

Pierce shrugs and rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck with a flat grin. “Doesn’t really matter who we’re fighting as long as we’re fighting, eh? Just get moving,” he says in annoyance, heading off surprisingly quickly for a man of his size. Lana nods to Lieca as she follows him, already fidgeting with her lightsaber.

Battles may not ever have been her strongest suit, but even Lieca knows enough that if she’s going to split her people she needs to divide their skills as well. Lana and Pierce work well together, and thanks to Jezhara she knows she can trust them to look out for each other. She might not know Senya very well herself, but she knows enough to know she can count on the woman in a fight. And HK...

“Exclamation: It is my extreme privilege to kill for you, master.”

HK was going to be just fine.

Senya looks at her expectantly and Lieca slowly unclips her own lightsaber from her belt. Cera had crafted a new one for her, the shining pale purple blade similar to the one she had lost, and T7 had happily passed it over before leaving their team behind at the vault and continuing on the droid’s next quest, which was to rendezvous with Calli.

They race through the corridors of the ship, Lieca fidgeting impatiently as they head in the opposite direction from Pierce and Lana. The airlocks are all active now, and waiting for each one to disengage the seals and praying they will not find an armed Knight on the other side is utter torture. The night air of the swamp is clammy and cold, and she shivers despite her long sleeves as they jump down the back stairs near the hangar bay.

“Caution: The closest patrol is approximately six hundred metres away, and closing.”

“If they get much closer, they’re going to see the Gravestone,” Senya says warningly.

“Acknowledgement: I will be sure to aim for their visual sensors and eyeballs where appropriate, Master Tirall.”

It’s hard to keep up with the two of them - harder than she’d like to admit. She knows that logically she’s had five years of inactivity, coupled with the lingering effects of the carbonite poisoning, but it’s still humiliating to have her head spinning and her lungs burning as she tries to match their speed. She knows it’s probably futile, but her friends have already sacrificed so much to save her and get her back to her family. The least she can do is assist wherever she can to help get them home as quickly and safely as possible.

Senya is silent as they move through the swamps behind HK, offering directions with hand gestures in the twilight gloom. It’s easy to recall why her first impression of Senya was that of a rather cold woman - she knows better now of course, but in ‘ _battle mode_ ’ like this she is slightly terrifying.

The skytrooper patrol, when it appears, is frustratingly silent - the mist muffles a great deal of the sound they would normally make were they clanking over metal gangways in the Spire. Accompanying them, looming out of the treetops, is the aforementioned walker, moving purposefully towards the ship. Senya and Lieca activate their lightsabers simultaneously, the clear blue and the vivid purple bouncing off of the mist in a glow that is hard to disguise, even in the cover the fog provides for them. The walker turns unerringly in their direction, and at its feet, a beam of light appears with a familiar hum, and the Knight leading the patrol steps into view.

The Knight extends the lightsaber towards them. “For our fallen Emperor!”

Senya matches the pose. “For my children,” she says grimly instead. As she launches forward to engage with the knight, several loud cracks sound through the trees, and two of the skytroopers crumble from the expertly placed shots of what sounds like Pierce’s rifle. Lieca nods to HK, and the two of them engage the remainder of the skytroopers, Lieca spinning forward into their midst while HK offers cover fire. The walker’s pilot, clearly blinded by the fact that the bulk of the combat is huddled beneath the heavy frame, tries to stomp on them instead, crushing a skytrooper that was too slow to move out of danger. Gritting her teeth, Lieca concentrates hard and uses the Force to rip a massive, rotten tree out of the ground, hurling it at the walker and overbalancing it, knocking it onto its side.

The three remaining skytroopers fall to HK’s blaster rifle, while Senya dispatches her opponent with a ruthless thrust through the chest. Lieca staggers backwards out of the fray, still reeling from the energy needed to lift the tree trunk; as a hatch cracks open on the fallen walker, a helmeted head appearing, she picks up a clod of mud and sends it hurtling towards them. It smacks them on the back of the head, and the hatch falls down on top of them with a crunch.

When the dust settles, Senya has a minor wound on her forearm and HK’s chassis is slightly dented, but otherwise they are unharmed. Lieca soothes the Force over Senya’s wounds, smiling as Senya gasps at the sensation. According to Senya, Force healing is even less common in their Force-users than amongst the Jedi and Sith, and so it is still a complete novelty to her. It’s rather delightful to watch as she brushes the fingers of her other arm over the healed wound, murmuring in amazement.

Lieca’s holocomm then beeps and she draws back to pull it out of her pocket, smiling at the small, glowing figure of Lana projected before her. “Lana. What’s the situation?”

The Sith huffs, glaring over her shoulder for a moment. “ _All hostiles defeated. But Kestra has contacted us to confirm that there are more patrols on the way - their camp must have been the first place inspected, and her sensors seem to indicate that what remained of the refugee camp was destroyed by these patrols. I fear this first batch was merely a test. We need to get out of here._ ”

Lieca nods. “Alright, hurry back to us.” She clicks over to another channel. “Risha, what news? Is the Gravestone ready for takeoff?”

Lana’s image flickers and changes to the mechanic, who is frowning, crouched down in front of some sort of console. “ _Just give the signal and we’ll get started_.”

“Well, they definitely know we’re here, so might as well make a break for it before they swarm our position.”

“ _Can do. Powering up now_.”

The hum of the vast engines rattles through her, and flocks of avian creatures take to the skies from the nearby trees with startled squawks and hoots; she can feel the vibrations echoing through the ground and through her feet, and the water beneath the ship churns and splutters, spraying up waves of slimy, muddy swamp murk. The exterior lights on the Gravestone slowly flicker to life, illuminating the forest with warm yellow light - Lieca has to put a hand up to shield her eyes, not expecting the sudden glare.

“ _We are definitely gonna need that boost whenever you’re ready_ ,” Geralt says, the image of Risha on the holocomm flickering over to his own. “ _We’ve got a lot of backwash coming into the engines, and the filters are designed for space dust, not half the damn ocean. They're gonna short out fast if the water gets in the electrical systems._ ”

“Just waiting on Lana,” Lieca sighs, and paces awkwardly while they wait for the other two to return. She feels a genuine smile of relief on her face to see them unharmed as they come racing around the bulk of the ship’s frame, and she’s pleased when Lana returns it.

Lieca gestures to the non Force-users. “We need to lift the ship. Keep an eye out for us to make sure we’re undisturbed.”

Pierce and HK both nod, keeping their rifles armed and aimed at the treeline on the far side of the clearing.

Geralt’s image then flickers onto Lieca’s holocomm again. “ _Anytime now, sweetheart!_ ” he says, sounding frantic. She can hear something sparking in the background of the call. “ _Stars fucking- shouldn’t the surge protection have kicked in for that-_ ”

She can’t help with whatever is going wrong on the flight deck, so she pockets the holocomm hastily and turns to Senya and Lana, who nod in grim acknowledgement.

Lana and Senya stand shoulder to shoulder, their faces set into expressions of fierce determination; they both stretch out their hands as if reaching for the ship, and Lieca can feel the Force gathering around them an at exponential rate. She steps in close behind them and clasps her hands together, closing her eyes to help her concentrate on them. It’s safest to let them take the lead here - she’s almost back to full health, but exerting power of this scale will likely not end well unless she simply adds her power to theirs.

 _Simply_. As though lifting an ancient starship out of a swamp where it’s been sitting for centuries is an easy task. She can almost hear Cera scoffing at her from here.

The Gravestone groans with the effort, the creak of ancient metal sounding ominously loud in the forest as the engines rev and choke on the muck. Water comes pouring out of every available surface as it slowly lifts, and to Lieca it feels like she’s trying to physically lift the ship on her own two shoulders, the weight of it bearing down on her - she can’t even imagine how intense the pressure must be for Senya and Lana. She can feel her feet sinking slowly into the muddy ground, and she grits her teeth and tries to widen her stance without toppling over.

There’s a sudden burst of energy, and the Gravestone quite noticeably lurches forward a few feet; at the back of the ship, the engines roar to life fully, and the remaining trees within range are seared to ashes by the exhaust. Just like that, the ship is hovering out of the swamp and all three of them stumble slightly as the engines completely take over.

Lana is panting, hands on her knees, and she frowns at Koth’s excited whoop coming from the holocomm in Lieca’s pocket; even Pierce looks vaguely impressed at the sight of the ship, his rifle held at rest as he stares upwards.

Risha’s voice can be heard muffled in Lieca’s pocket, and she pulls out the holocomm to answer, smiling at the triumphant look on her face. “ _See, I told you. Now hurry up and join us, I’m sure we’ve activated every alarm on the planet with that racket, and we want to move before they start acting on it!_ ”

Lieca nods, and Lana turns to Pierce, a near predatory gleam in her eyes. “I guess there’s only one way to do this then,” she says near gleefully, and the soldier’s eyes narrow just before Lana throws her hands up and he goes flying towards the now airborne ship ramp.

He lands with an extremely colourful string of curses trailing after him, especially when Senya follows suit by throwing HK after him. The droid seems equally unimpressed at the move, and narrowly avoids landing on the furiously wheezing soldier.

Lieca giggles and turns shining eyes to her friend, and Lana’s eyes soften. “Can you jump or do you need help?” Lana asks quietly, and Senya steps closer to steady her when she sways.

Lieca swallows. “Probably would be best to give a boost? I don’t tend to jump around much anyway, that’s more Cera’s department.”

Lana grins. “Alright then,” she says, just as Senya leaps up herself, pushing the other two out of the way.

“Stop cursing and move, you idiots,” the older woman scowls.

Lieca takes a deep breath, and Lana looks to her expectantly. “Ready?” she asks.

“Ready.”

She sees Lana’s expression grow intense out of the corner of her eye, but she concentrates instead on where Senya is standing on the edge of the airlock with her hand outstretched. She launches herself upwards, and feels the flood of momentum Lana had provided propel her much further into the air than she would have managed alone. Senya catches her around the wrist the moment she comes within reach, pulling her hard onto the platform before gravity can drag her back down again. Her knees wobble for a moment, but Senya helps her from stumbling just as Lana jumps up to land rather gracefully, all things considered.

Lieca is not envious in the slightest of the acrobatic display. Not at all.

Lana tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, looking momentarily breathless, before frowning and looking back down at the swamp as the ship starts rising again. “Looks like we moved just in time,” she says ominously, and Senya and Lieca also look down to see the incoming patrols now visible among the trees as they race towards the disturbance the Gravestone is causing. Lieca swallows nervously as they step back, the ship’s outer airlock closing in front of them with a hiss and a surge of pressure against her eardrums.

The Force is trying to warn her of something, and she feels it like something cold running down her back. She shudders before rolling her shoulders and shaking her head to try to clear it; a vague sense of doom is all well and good, but it’s hardly useful when she already knows she’s in dire peril to start with.

Senya is looking back towards the cockpit, frowning. “I hope our pilots actually know what they're doing,” she says doubtfully, automatically steadying Lieca as the engines kick in harder and the ship continues rising at an increasingly sharper angle.

Lana shrugs from where she is slumped against the wall, exhausted. “I trust Koth with my life. And for all his blustering, the Mirialan is quite a talented pilot.”

“ _Aw, shucks sweetheart, you’ll make me blush!_ ”

Lana glares wrathfully towards the intercom speaker and Lieca hides a giggle. Even Senya seems amused.

“ _I am of course quite talented in a multitude of areas I would_ love _to show you, including piloting, shooting, fuc-OW! Risha! That's my ear! Ow ow OW-_ ”

Lieca is unable to hide her giggle that time, and they start heading to the cockpit as Risha’s calm voice takes over the intercom.

“ _Do ignore the good Captain, he just gets a bit too big for his helmet sometimes. His ego is probably keeping this ship afloat as much as the engines._ ”

From in the background, they can still hear Geralt’s attempts at charm. “ _Risha, honey, you know I don’t wear helmets because they mess up my pretty hair-”_

_“Anyway! If our esteemed Force users want to join us in the cockpit, that would be most appreciated.”_

Pierce coughs angrily from where he jogs alongside Lana. “What about the non-Force users, princess? You know, the ones who actually saved your ass while you sat toasty warm inside?”

There is a long pause from the intercom. “ _I’m sorry, you seem to be under the impression that I care what you have to say. Here’s a hint: I don’t.”_

Pierce seems on the verge of responding in what is sure to be an unpleasant manner when Lana shoots him a look, and he steps back mutinously. The team enters the cockpit just in time for a blazing red alarm to start, and Lieca flinches again. From where he is in the pilot’s seat, she can see Koth tense, and even Geralt in the co-pilot’s seat looks uneasy.

Koth’s fingers fly over the controls, as he mutters angrily under his breath. “Incoming out of hyperspace! It’s… it’s a _lot_.”

The dark sky ahead of them - or rather, it’s space now, with Zakuul’s atmosphere falling away behind them - is full of row upon row of small shapes in the distance, their lines too carefully symmetrical to be natural. There seems to be no end to them, and the vague threat that had been pressing on her thoughts earlier is suddenly clear. She has fractured memories of these ships, scattered fragments where she recalls seeing them outside the glass of a... a tower, some kind of tower, with a- a golden throne?

It’s Senya who quietly answers Lieca’s unspoken question, as the viewscreen is suddenly filled with more ships than she can count. “It’s the Eternal Fleet.”

Pierce turns to Risha with a nasty look on his face. “And _you_ said we wouldn’t need the guns.”

Risha merely raises an eyebrow. “Oh, because they would be _so helpful_ right now? Given the amazing track record of precisely _zero_ ships surviving against this damn Fleet? If you were that worried, why didn’t _you_ fix the guns?”

Lieca looks back towards Zakuul, expression tense. “Why go to all the effort to keep me trapped for so long, only to blow us out of the sky at the first opportunity?” she asks quietly.

Koth blinks. “Well, it’s not like they’re firing at-”

The nearest ship turns its gun on them immediately and Risha glares at him. “You _had_ to say something, didn’t you?” she says spitefully, just before the Fleet opens fire.


	7. First Impressions

Calli frowns across the mess hall at Theron, who despite looking absolutely exhausted, seems to be making a valiant effort to look awake and sociable as he plays cards with Flissa over her breakfast. According to Cera, their niece had had trouble sleeping the night before, and had slipped out of her room late in the night to go and look for Theron. _Theron_. Calli knows she’s been gone a few years on Zakuul, and she can’t expect things to have stayed the same, but it still hurts a bit that Flissa went looking for _Theron_ instead of her. She knows she’s still the favourite aunt, and that Flissa has always been fascinated by Theron, but... still.

She’s only been back a few days herself, after leaving Zakuul - hopefully for good - with SCORPIO, to bring the droid here as demanded. Bowdaar and T7 had stayed behind, Bowdaar to keep running the club and T7 to run its own various missions - she suspects that Cera might be behind the droid’s secretive endeavours. She misses her Wookiee so badly, but she understands that Bowdaar has a place on Zakuul, and she very much doesn’t.

She winces into her cereal, pushing her spoon around absently in the cold dregs of the bowl; the awkward conversation with her sister about SCORPIO had been almost enough to send her hightailing it back to Zakuul, price on her head or not. The only thing more bewildering than trying to awkwardly defend SCORPIO had been the hug Cera had enveloped her in immediately prior, just about knocking her flat with the force of the tackle-hug and she’s not quite sure which situation weirded her out more.

She _loves_ her sisters, but they just - they’re _Jedi_. Jedi don’t do things like knock family members flat with hugs, even if they’ve been apart for years. Well, Lieca and Cera probably did to each other, but it’s that whole twin thing they’ve got going on with each other which never included her, and it’s just... wow, she even sounds jealous in her own head, what is _that_ about?

She grumbles under her breath and pushes away her almost empty bowl of breakfast. She moves her legs off the table in front of her and stands up, but before she can start to move away she has Flissa wrapped around her legs in a quick hug. “Morning Aunty Calli!” she says cheerfully, blowing her a kiss before heading back to her game with Theron, leaving Calli blinking in surprise at how much the small gesture of love leaves her shaky.

Even Theron smiles politely at her in greeting, which is odd because they’ve never really gotten along. But she’ll be damned if she lets him win, so she smiles and nods back, turning on her heel to leave the room as quickly as possible.

It’s so _weird_ being back here after her years on Zakuul. She had forgotten the underlying tension from having a base full of Republic and Imperial soldiers and civilians all working together now - it may have calmed down a bit in recent years, but it’s still new enough to her to almost have her teeth on edge.

It doesn’t help that she really doesn’t have anything to do at the moment. She spent years working her way through Zakuulan society to try to save her sister, and now that Lieca’s actually free she feels… lost. There’s nothing more she can do to speed up her sister’s return, all she can do is sit here and wait.

And Calli _hates_ waiting.

She had meant to talk to Cera this morning, but she was apparently in some Jedi training thing with her twins and some of the other Force-users on the base. She kinda hopes Sana-Rae is there too, purely so she won’t risk running into her. The Voss make her uncomfortable - she doesn’t have the best memories of her time on their world, when Geralt was doing whatever his latest scheme was at the time. Too much mysticism for her tastes, and too many creepy prophecies - it seemed like the Voss couldn’t even choose what to have for breakfast without waiting for a prophecy about it first.

She doesn’t need some strange religion to offer her visions of a future where people are disappointed in her. She doesn’t need visions to know _that’s_ a certainty at all.

The cantina is too quiet at this hour of the day, and she’s in the wrong sort of mood for the atmosphere the cantina encourages- she’s too pensive, too on edge. Maybe the smuggler’s hangar? Although it doesn’t feel right to be there without Geralt’s racuous flirtations sounding over the laughter and the cheers. Ugh, she can’t just go back to her room and sulk, but she needs to do _something_.

Go bother Cera for news on Lieca and the others? It’d mean risking the Force enclave, but it feels like more and more these days, if she isn’t willing to risk going into the lair of the mighty Force-users, she gets left behind in family things. It’s no surprise that Cera’s twins are Force users too; it’s her main source of glee at the moment, given that the girls were already energy personified _before_ they had Force powers, and she can only imagine that they are driving their dad completely up the wall now.

Possibly literally. Hey, maybe she should encourage the twins to practice levitation.

If she remembers correctly, apparently the twins have made a few other friends on the base - she remembers seeing Nicola trying to teach a blue twi’lek girl how to jump rope yesterday. She vaguely wonders if the twi’lek is a Force-user too, but since it doesn’t change a thing in her life, it’s not like it matters, right?

As long as she’s not asked to babysit all the kids at once on her own, she’ll be fine. She is of course the favourite auntie, but she prefers to be a backup babysitter where possible. It’s much easier when Flissa is included with the younger kids - that girl is way smarter than half the adults she knows and is good at wrangling her cousins when required.

Speaking of which, she wonders why Flissa isn’t with the group training this morning. Maybe it’s just for the younger kids - she vaguely recalls hearing how they have one of the former Jedi crechemaster’s on base now, and they probably didn’t want to overwhelm her so early by having older kids to train along with Cera’s constantly-moving twins.

Calli has spent a good portion of the last few days wandering the base aimlessly and trying to re-learn her way around, but sometimes her feet lead her places she’s not expecting. Apparently thinking about the Force-users’ training has brought her towards the main room set aside for such things - and she’s clearly a little too distracted for her own good when she’s walking past the room just as the door opens and nearly walks into someone as they’re leaving.

She looks up to see their face and _screams_ , jumping a mile in the air and swinging her fist towards their head as she recognises their features as matching Arcann’s.

The obviously startled man catches her hand before she connects, blue eyes managing to be both concerned and amused. “Can I help you?” he asks dryly, his low voice _different_ but still way too familiar for her panicking emotions.

She’s fairly certain her heart is about to jump out of her chest, and she can’t stop her instinctive reaction of moving her legs to sweep his out from under him. The man grunts in surprise and crashes to the ground, landing rather heavily while she jumps back, pulling her blaster pistol from its holster and pointing it at him with shaking hands.

He freezes instantly, midway through raising his hands in a placating gesture while she stares at him, before a blue twi’lek also exits the room, practically radiating concern. “Is everyone alright, I heard screaming? Oh, Thexan!”

The man looks slightly annoyed now and at the name ‘ _Thexan_ ’, Calli’s brain begins to kick back in and she stares at him more closely. Although his features do match Arc-the _Emperor’s_ , his eyes are blue instead of gold, and his hair is much longer and darker. And of course, the most obvious difference is that his face is whole, not scarred and hidden behind a mask. Her eyes widen in realisation as her racing heart finally connects all the dots and she quickly lowers her gun, trying to jump back further.

This must be the Emperor’s twin brother (who she _knew_ was here on Odessen and had kinda been avoiding on purpose _oh my god Calli get it together_ ), and she just literally attacked him for no reason that she cares to examine just yet other than righteous indignation and personal panic.

The twi’lek woman moves forward as soon as she lowers her gun, kneeling beside Thexan and all but radiating worry while Calli stares at her blankly. Thexan is watching her warily but accepts the twi’lek’s help to stand back up just as Cera appears in the doorway. “Calli? Is everything alright?”

Calli turns her gaze to her sister’s worried face, and realises she’s almost shaking as she moves her blaster back to its holster. “I... I was just startled! I wasn’t expecting to see him,” she says quickly.

Thexan folds his arms as soon as he’s standing upright again. “Do you regularly attack people who startle you?” he says, apparently ignoring the twi’lek’s calming hand on his shoulder. “It seems a rather... _extreme_ reaction.”

Hearing _his_ voice all but dismiss her makes her temper flare in turn. “Only people who look like the Emperor,” she snaps back.

Thexan stills. “You know my brother,” he says quietly.

Calli feels her cheeks heat up instantly, and she can feel Cera’s piercing stare burn into her even without looking. “I’m pretty sure we’ve all seen his face before,” she bluffs, hopefully convincingly. “It’s kinda hard to get away from his constant proclamations of doom and gloom as he terrorises the galaxy.”

The twi’lek winces and Thexan gives Calli a flat look. “Very few people actually tend to recognise me as his twin these days when we meet in person,” he says gruffly, sounding almost a little hurt, and it’s definitely weirding her out hearing _his_ voice. Well, she doesn’t know _his_ voice but he sounds a lot like his brother and _stars_ this is getting awkward, _focus Callistra_.

“Well, maybe other people are just stupid,” she says defensively, tucking her hands under her arms. Her hands that definitely aren’t shaking. Nope.

Thexan still looks suspicious and the awkward silence is broken by the twi’lek stepping forward, smiling warmly. “Well, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. My name is Ona’la,” she says pleasantly.

Calli blinks at her, finally recognising her as the former Jedi crechemaster she’d been thinking about earlier. Ona’la is an old friend of both of her sisters, and although she doesn’t know the full story of how Thexan was saved from Zakuul and came to marry Ona’la, from what she knows of the Jedi and her kind heart, she isn’t exactly surprised. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” she says awkwardly. “I’m Calli.”

Ona’la nods, looking pleased. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you Calli,” she says kindly, before gesturing back to the stony-faced Thexan while Calli glares at her sister; Cera stares back guilelessly. What the hell does this Jedi know about her? “And this is my husband, Thexan.”

Thexan is still watching her unnervingly, but when prompted he nods his head politely. “Hello Calli,” he says warily.

She fidgets awkwardly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s starting to get the feeling these two might know a little more about what happened on Zakuul than she would like. She hadn’t told anyone outright, but Holiday is such a gossip it’s inevitable someone would put the pieces together. Bowdaar certainly had - so does Cera know too? Oh, fucking stars.

The speculative look he’s giving her only makes her more apprehensive. “Hello,” she says quietly. “I’ll, um, I’ll just leave you to it then?”

She gives them no time to respond, turning on her heel and leaving before they can say anything, ignoring the press of Cera’s disapproval against her back. She triggers her stealth generator as soon as she’s around the corner, and takes off running once she feels the familiar safe rush of it activating over her.

She has to stop at one point to catch her breath and calm her racing heart down, but in no time at all she finds herself in her favourite hiding place up on the roof, discovered shortly after her arrival when she was hiding from her sister and Theron’s questions. The feeling of relief as she settles against the wall and deactivates the generator is almost tangible, and makes her shudder for a moment.

The breeze is always nice up here, and it helps her relax. It helps that it’s quiet, and that nobody else seems to know about it and so nobody bothers her. The wide-open space is definitely preferable to the tiny safehouse on Zakuul, both the flat solitude of the rooftop itself and the rocky hills reaching into the distance beyond. She’s missed the simplicity of a view like this, after years of living in a city of metal towers without horizons.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back against the wall, simply breathing in and out and trying to calm down.

Seeing Thexan just now was a bit more confronting than she was prepared for. And she’s pretty sure he suspects something. Fuck, he and Ona’la probably knew all about the plan for her to infiltrate the palace to save Lieca and fucking stars he’s probably already connecting the dots...

She _hates_ how this whole fucking thing that happened with Arcann is still affecting her. She’s had one-night stands go worse before. Case in point, the ones who tried to sell her out to him.

Why does this one feel different?

She sniffs, definitely not holding back tears, and rubs her eyes with her hands. Fucking asshole, she’s not going to let him ruin another day. She’s just being ridiculous. It’s just the wind making her eyes water.

To distract herself, she pulls out her little portable holo interface (a gift from her sister, she tries not to use it too much) and starts shuffling out the cards for her preferred card game, the solo version of Liar’s Cut. She would prefer to use the real stack in her pocket, but with the breeze up here there’s too much risk she might lose the cards.

Sometime later, she’s finally clearing away another star when the nearby hatch disengages and she lets out an undignified squeak and half-jumps to the side, her hand instinctively moving to her hip to draw her blaster on whoever startled her.

She’s somehow not entirely surprised to see Thexan’s flat expression staring back at her. “Really?” he says with a heavy sigh, waiting in the hatch with his hands in plain sight. “So we’re doing this again are we?

Calli narrows her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He nods towards her hands. “Are you going to put the gun down?” he asks dryly.

She frowns. “ _Why_ are you here?”

“To talk?”

She blinks at him. “Do you regularly invade the private spaces of people you barely know ‘ _to talk_ ’?” she asks, lowering the gun slightly.

He shrugs, still watching her gun. “Only for those who try to shoot me for my resemblance to my brother,” he says, feigning a casual tone.

Her eyes narrow. “Yeah, okay, pull the other one - it’s got bells.”

He blinks. “What?”

Calli sighs. “It basically means I don’t believe you. I somehow doubt you prefer to spend time alone with anyone who’s attacked you for your family resemblance,” she sneers. “Especially when they’re armed.”

Thexan rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, can you stop pointing your blaster at me now? We both know if you were going to shoot me, you would’ve already done it by now. Plus it’s not like you would land the shot anyway.”

She glares at him, but does bring her blaster pistol back to her hip. She doesn’t _actually_ want to shoot the husband of one of her sisters’ friends (and despite his smugness she knows she would totally hit him, bloody Force-users), but it annoys her that he knows that. He nods politely, quickly lifting himself out of the roof access shaft to stand next to it. “Why, thank you.”

She rolls her eyes at him, gathering up her holo cards and disabling the interface. “Is smug arrogance a family trait?” she mutters in annoyance.

He gives her a weird look. “I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to my brother since he became Emperor,” he says quietly, before suddenly narrowing his eyes at her. “But _you_ have.”

Calli raises her eyebrow at him, hoping her cheeks aren’t giving her away. “Uh-huh. Yes, I have regularly been having _delightful_ cups of tea and cake with the asshole Emperor,” she snaps sarcastically. “Oops, did I forget to mention that on my monthly reports?”

He shoots her a flat look, folding his arms. “A lot of people aren’t very happy to see me when they realise my family connection,” he says dully, ignoring her comment. “But I can’t say I’ve had any of them scream and try to shoot me before.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they wanted to shoot you,” she attempts to deflect, sniffing disdainfully.

Thexan rolls his eyes, and Calli absently notes she prefers the pale blue over molten fire. “Charming,” he replies dryly, tilting his head to the side as he watches her. “But you _do_ know my brother, don’t you?”

Calli laughs, the sound more hollow than she was expecting. “So sure, aren’t you? What makes you think that?”

He frowns. “You met him when you infiltrated the palace to help your sister,” he says, the declaration too confident to be just an assumption.

She shrugs, bringing her knees to her chest again. “Even if I did, it was his party. He would’ve met lots of people.” Thexan raises an eyebrow, and even seeing his whole face instead of just the one corner makes the expression too familiar and she looks away. It’s obvious he knows something. “You can’t expect to know someone from one chance meeting,” she says quietly.

Thexan doesn’t move, though his tone is more conciliatory. “True, but I get the feeling it’s not that simple.”

She sniffs, still looking to the side. “Why do you even care?”

“Did he hurt you?”

She blinks and turns back to look at Thexan, whose expression is vaguely haunted. “When... when I used to know my brother, he would never. But five years is a long time and I just... I don’t know him anymore. I like to think he still wouldn’t but-”

“He didn’t,” she says quickly, interrupting. “He didn’t attack me or anything. No broken bones, no bruises, nothing.”

Thexan looks relieved and she feels a little bad for him. She only knows parts of his story, how he was saved from Zakuul and entrusted into Ona’la’s care, and their eventual marriage. He’s been apart from his brother for over five years now, but he obviously still cares about him. Her mind flashes back to the data stolen from Emperor Arcann’s personal databases, and more specifically the protected server containing the letters Thexan has been sending him over the years.

At first she had been so angry at seeing the letters, convinced it was some sort of trick and that Thexan was a spy for his brother, infiltrating the Republic and the Alliance in the most insidious way imaginable. But the few messages she skimmed through were mostly personal news, and trying to persuade his brother to _stop_ and calm down and he was sorry but it was his life and he was happy and he just wanted him to be happy too.

Her datamine programs searched through the rest, and the most interesting thing was that the Emperor never responded to a single one. She’d lived on Zakuul for years, and she knew that the official story was that Thexan died during the first war in the Core. Part of her is exceptionally curious about what actually happened - Thexan is obviously still alive after all. Arcann obviously knew it because of the letters. Did his twin just not care? Would he rather have his brother believed dead than have it known he’s vaguely associated with the Republic through his now-wife? Whatever actually happened, it’s clearly something deeply personal and hush hush, as it was never spoken of even during Thexan’s Republic trial and the associated witchhunt, that she can recall.

Regardless, Thexan clearly misses his brother. And he obviously already suspects something happened between them at the palace; the nasty part of her mind points out that even if she tells Thexan what happened, as the Emperor’s twin, people aren’t likely to believe much of what he says anyway. The other part of her mind, the part that points out that some people definitely already suspect something - if only for the sheer amount of information she was able to steal - is wilfully ignored.

Calli sighs and looks down, hugging her arms around her knees. More than anything she’s tired of pretending she’s fine and keeping it all inside. Maybe if she talks about it, makes it real, she can stop moping and get a grip. “He was nice to me,” she says quietly. “He wasn’t at all like I was expecting.”

She doesn’t need to look at Thexan to know he’s frozen, and she hugs her knees tighter. “I didn’t even know he was in the crowd until he appeared in front of me. He was supposed to stay in his giant box above the riffraff, judging from afar. Nobody ever thought I’d get close, I wasn’t at all prepared for it.”

Thexan stays quiet and moves to sit nearby, still in view but not directly in front of her. It helps that he’s not weirdly looming over her anymore; she already feels small enough right now.

“I guess you know what I was doing - my job was to get access to the system, to get the codes to save my sister. But it wasn’t working, and every person I talked to didn’t have high enough clearance, or wasn’t interested in anything other than a drink or a grope. I was so _frustrated_ , and when I went to leave the room to try to calm down, some drunk woman got in my way and we fell over.”

She sighs, fingers absently moving up her forearm towards the faint outline of the scar. “The woman had dropped her glass and I landed on it and hurt my arm. I was so angry and frustrated and in pain and I was about to yell at her when... when he stepped out of the crowd.”

Thexan makes a soft noise, but otherwise doesn’t move or speak. Surprisingly, it helps, and she takes another deep breath. “I don’t know why he was even there, I hadn’t heard anyone saying he had left the upper levels. And he was just so _polite_ and offered me his hand and I don’t think I’ve ever been so surprised in my life. And then he just helped me up and started leading me away from the crowd.”

She chuckles humourlessly. “The Zakuulan Emperor, tyrant of the galaxy, helping some stupid bimbo from a party stop making a spectacle of herself. He was probably worried I’d make more of a scene, figured if he gave me over to his servants to clean me up and fix my dress I’d be less of a problem. So the servants took me upstairs and took care of me, even after I yelled at them to let me do it myself,” she continues, flicking a lock of hair out of her eyes before pausing. “Did you guys always have servants literally bathing you? What the hell is that about?”

Thexan raises an eyebrow, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I hope you weren’t too rude to them?” he asks instead.

She frowns at his deflection. “Well, I yelled at them to get out, but I didn’t hit any of them or anything,” she says crossly, hugging her knees again. “And then they came back and told me the Emperor was waiting to see me, apparently in the next bloody room for whatever reason. Idiots didn’t even give me my dress back!”

Thexan blinks, flushing slightly. “Ah, um-” he starts before she waves her arm and cuts him off.

“I was _not_ naked, thank you very much; they gave me a bathrobe,” she snaps waspishly. “Obviously sufficient enough for them to make someone run into their Immortal Ruler or whatever they call him. They just ran off and left me with him! Luckily I was ignoring my first instincts of ‘ _stab him_ ’ because that was fucking dumb of them,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Thexan’s face has gone carefully blank and she blinks. “Okay, I obviously didn’t actually stab him,” she says uncertainly, not quite sure what he’s thinking of. “He was just sitting there waiting for me - I have no idea why he was even there, actually? I mean, he had already surprised me with his manners once, maybe he was just being ridiculously polite, and checking on his ‘guest’ before going back downstairs to do who knows what.”

When he doesn’t say anything, she looks away again. “So I tried to be polite back - mostly too surprised to do anything else really. I was just thinking about how to plant the dataspike, hidden in my earring,” she says carefully. “And he just stared at me and got all weirdly annoyed and told me to stop being so polite and just say what I really meant as he could tell I was just putting it on.”

Thexan speaks as though he can’t quite stop himself. “Hmm, I can’t imagine thinking that politeness is not your first instinct.”

She recoils, glaring at him and feeling hurt even if it’s technically true. “Says the asshole interrupting me when I’m trying to talk about something that’s hard for me,” she snarls, tears absolutely not forming in her eyes. “You can just fuck off if you prefer.”

She’s about two seconds from standing up and fleeing when he grunts. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t look back at him, still tightly hugging her knees. “Hrmph. You actually sound sincere.”

He sighs. “Ona’la says I need to... work on my timing?” he says tiredly. “I’m... not used to this.”

She finally looks back, taking in his discomforted expression and raising an eyebrow. “You’re not used to talking to people who’ve had weird conversations with your brother in his bedroom?” she asks dryly.

He blinks, flushing slightly. “Not exactly, no,” he says awkwardly, before rubbing the back of his head. “The, ah, _stabbing_ is a bit more dramatic than I usually hear in private conversations too.”

She manages a tiny smile at that, resting her chin on her knees. “It’s the politest way I could think to say it,” she says primly.

He chuckles nervously before pausing. “I am sorry for being rude, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he says in a rush.

She smiles again, feeling it turn a little more genuine this time. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “It’s not exactly a normal conversation.”

He shrugs. “Because I’m so good at those anyway.”

She tilts her head at him in confusion, making a mental note to ask Cera about this later. Thexan then coughs, fingers toying with the ring on his right hand. It looks plain, almost like a wedding band but that’s probably the ring on his left hand. Although, from what she knows of Twi’lek customs, he might have a wedding necklace instead? Too? Ugh who knows.

Maybe she should stop focusing on his hands because that’s starting to bring up inappropriate thoughts that only get more inappropriate the more she thinks and _wow_ maybe she should just calm down, this is getting weird.

She coughs too and he gives her an odd look. “So, uh, what happened then?”

She blinks, hoping he doesn’t notice her flushed cheeks, and tucks another lock of hair behind her ear. “I, um, kinda insulted him. A bit. And he, uh, wasn’t a huge fan?” At Thexan’s vaguely disapproving look she scowled. “Look I don’t want to know about your private life but generally, dragging strangers into your rooms and having your people strip them naked isn’t exactly an invitation for anything other than extreme ridicule so, you know, he’s lucky I only called him an asshole.”

Thexan blinks. “You... you called him an asshole? To his face?”

She folds her arms. “Yeah? He fucking deserved it.”

Thexan’s lips twitch, and she sees the glee of a brother flash across his face. “I imagine his reaction was interesting.”

She smirks briefly in remembrance before the smile fades. “It was much better than when I called him monstrous,” she says quietly.

Thexan makes a soft noise, but doesn’t speak, and she looks down again. “I mean, I do think he’s awful - look at what he’s done to the galaxy, to my _family_. But he was clearly hurt. Which, you know, he does deserve that because of all the fucking terrible things he’s done. But it made him seem... human, rather than just this weirdly polite Emperor who was just trying to wipe us all out.”

She makes a frustrated noise, gesturing randomly. “And he made me feel bad for saying it which was just, _ugh_ , and then he said he liked my honesty and…” She trails off awkwardly.

Thexan makes another noise and when she looks back up he’s raising an eyebrow at her and even that one corner of his face makes the expression familiar enough she almost can’t breathe. “And?”

She sighs, feeling her cheeks heat up a bit. “And we... kinda flirted a bit I guess and then he offered me a chance to leave but he kept saying all these really nice things and-” she takes a deep breath “-and we-kinda-had-a-lot-of-sex.”

Thexan blinks at her rapidly and despite her embarrassment she’s amused to see the exact point his brain catches up to what she said and he rears back in horror. “Woah woah _woah_ , I did _not_ need to know _that_ ,” he says, clearly aghast.

There’s too much of a little sister in her to not relish seeing someone squirm over this, even with her mortification. “Aw, what’s wrong Thexan, I only said the word _sex_. Pretty sure you’ve heard it before!”

To her absolute delight he even looks vaguely green. “I do not need to hear about my twin brother doing... that,” he hisses.

Despite her earlier discomfort she’s barely resisting the urge to cackle right now. “Aw, poor Thexan, is this too much to handle for you right now? You did ask!” she says gleefully, untucking her arms from around her legs and shifting to sit cross-legged in front of him.

He starts waving his hands at her frantically, still looking vaguely panicked. “Okay okay, yes, I did, but I just... I didn’t need to know that part!”

She laughs, the sound surprisingly carefree and he glares at her for a moment. “Poor Thexan,” she giggles.

He folds his arms, cheeks a little flushed, which she finds adorable. “Okay, well, I don’t see why... _that_ is making you have this reaction to my brother. Did... did something happen? You... you said he didn’t hurt you.”

She tilts her head to the side, taking in his discomforted expression before the pieces click into place. “Oh! Oh, um, he didn’t, um, force me or anything if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says quickly, her cheeks heating up again.

He actually looks relieved despite his obvious mortification and that makes her smile slightly. “Oh, um, good? I guess?” he says before clearing his throat. “Um, but that doesn’t explain why you tried to punch me before.”

Her merriment fades and her eyes dart to the side again. “Maybe he was just a bad lay?” she snarks.

Thexan raises an eyebrow, still quite red. “Um, okay, way too much information there, and do you usually punch people who are bad at that?”

She frowns. “Yes?”

His eyebrow rises higher. “.... ah. I’m... sorry?”

She rolls her eyes but it does make her giggle a bit, as he does seem to be almost trying to comfort her. In the most awkward way possible yes, but it’s weirdly nice.

He sighs, seemingly collecting himself. “So, um, why did you really try to punch me?”

Calli withdraws a little, bringing her knees to her chest again, and swallowing hard. “Self-defence,” she says quietly. “I-I know he wouldn’t be happy to see me again.”

Thexan frowns. “What? Why?”

She glares at him. “I don’t know, maybe because he would’ve figured I was the one who fucking helped Lieca escape?” she snaps. “Besides, he made it more than clear he couldn’t care less about me anyway.”

He blinks. “Um, how do you go from... _that_ to just not caring?”

She laughs, the sound angrier than she was hoping. “I don’t know, but he certainly fucking managed it. Getting thrown out in the middle of the night by his bloody servants is a pretty good indicator!”

He winces. “What?”

She looks down, her voice going a little hollower than she was expecting. “He fell asleep almost immediately, and while I was trying to figure out what I should do his people showed up and told me he wouldn’t want anything further to do with me and that they were there to escort me out,” she says quietly, voice definitely not almost cracking into a sob. “He made me feel important, like he was choosing me over everyone else at that party, but in the end it was just some stupid game to him and he didn’t even have the decency to throw me out to my face. He had his fucking people do it. And it’s just... that hurt, as much as I wish it didn’t.”

She sniffs, and swallows down the absolutely-not-sob in her throat. “I mean, it was my own stupid fault for falling for it and seeing a person under it all. But I just... it’s pretty damn obvious he couldn’t give a fuck about what happens to me. Especially now that he probably knows I helped Lieca escape. Can’t imagine the almighty Emperor would forgive something like that... I mean, if I even wanted him too.”

Thexan looks vaguely horrified and it surprisingly makes her feel a bit better. She’s not being stupid - even his own brother thinks it was a dick move on his part. The Emperor could’ve at least thanked her for the nice fuck, but _noooo_ apparently she isn’t even worth that. Fucker.

But she probably could’ve been a little nicer about telling Thexan. And probably shouldn’t have tried to punch him. She winces and then smiles at him slightly. “And apparently I’m still being a little weird about it all, and so when I thought I saw his face I just panicked and... I’m sorry I attacked you,” she says quietly, hoping she sounds sincere and not bitter.

Thexan’s expression goes carefully blank, though he does nod in acceptance of her apology. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, eyes suddenly darting to the ground. “I... I’m sorry if I remind you of something painful.”

She all but flinches, looking bewildered. “Um, it’s not your fault hon,” she says gently, hugging her knees again. “After all, if I had been thinking I would’ve seen the differences - it was mostly because you startled me. Obviously you don’t wear the mask, and your hair is longer, and you have different eyes. In fact I-”

Thexan tenses suddenly, quickly raising his hands to interrupt her. “Wait, different eyes? We have the same eyes.”

Calli raises an eyebrow. “Um, no you don’t. Well maybe the left eye is the same as yours but his right eye is gold, not blue. Maybe even a little red, but definitely not blue. Shouldn’t you know what your brother’s eyes look like?”

Thexan isn’t quite staring at her and for the first time he looks almost... lost. “But... he had blue eyes before,” he all but whispers, sounding distraught. “They changed back, I know they did!”

Calli blinks. “What are you talking about?”

He almost doesn’t seem to hear her, eyes snapping back to hers and a near desperate note entering his voice. “Are you sure, are you sure they weren’t blue? His eye was definitely gold, and it wasn’t just a trick of the light?”

She shifts her arms from around her legs to rest on top of her knees, feeling annoyed now. “Yes, of course I’m sure! His eye was definitely gold, okay? Now what’s going on?”

Okay, so maybe his eye could’ve changed colours or whatever Thexan thinks is going on while she was blindfolded, but she’s pretty certain she does not need to mention that part and traumatise him further. Either way, Arcann’s eye was definitely gold every time she saw it.

Thexan closes his eyes and almost slumps where he’s sitting. He looks too forlorn, sitting there almost hunched over, and despite the fact that she barely knows him it makes her sad. “Thexan?” she asks quietly.

He takes a deep breath and looks back at her, and she’s startled to note he almost seems to be holding back tears. “It’s not exactly a surprise,” he says quietly, an almost rueful smile crossing his face briefly. “I think I always knew. I just... I hoped.”

She waits for a moment, resting her chin on her arms. “Thexan? What does his eyes changing mean to you?”

He blinks, momentarily thrown for a moment before his expression clears. “Ah. It’s uh, something to do with the Force. When someone... gives in, to their darker feelings or something, it changes their eyes. Like Lana - her real eyes are probably not gold. Your culture says it’s a sign that someone has drawn on the dark side, but we were always told it was a sign of our loyalty to my fa- the Emperor.”

She raises an eyebrow. New information there, but whatever, she can ask Cera about it later. “So you and your brother both had blue eyes? Before?”

He nods. “Always. Korriban was - it was the first time they changed. It’s where he got hurt and lost his arm. He was... _different_ after that. But I calmed him down and everything was fine until we got home,” he says, still sounding sad. “And then Father he... he just dismissed us and Arcann was so _angry_ and-”

He cuts himself off with an annoyed huff. “They were blue just before I... died. I thought that made my sacrifice mean something,” he says, laughing hollowly. “But I guess I was just fooling myself.”

Calli pauses for a moment and quickly stands up, ignoring his confused look. “You just wanted to believe in your brother,” she says quietly, sitting down next to him - not touching him, but sitting within reach. “Despite everything that’s happened. That’s... something to be admired.”

He chuckles again, the sound flat and dull. “Most people wouldn’t say that.”

She shrugs and reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m not most people,” she says quietly, before shoving him lightly. “I mean, I still think he’s a complete asshole. But you know, you don’t, and that’s what important.”

He laughs, the sound a little less broken than before, and it makes her feel better too. “Thank you, I think,” he says quietly, but definitely slightly happier.

She nods, dropping her gaze to start fiddling with her gloves. “And, if it helps, he did keep your letters,” she says softly.

Thexan reacts as though she’d struck him; whirling around to face her directly, eyes wide. “What?”

She freezes momentarily at being the focus of his bright blue gaze, his expression a shifting mix of disbelief, devastation and blinding hope. “I... I said he kept your letters.”

Thexan’s eyes are all but flickering with how quickly he seems to be jumping from one emotion to the other and he finally seems to settle on desperation. “What, but, how do you even _know_ that?”

She shrugs, unable to take her eyes off his. “Holiday found a folder on his datapad, severed from the main network,” she says hesitantly, feeling nervous at how still he is while he silently stares at her. “I was curious about what he was trying to hide and when I opened it it was full of letters and videos.”

She winces suddenly at the tightness around Thexan’s eyes. “I didn’t realise what it was, I just opened the first couple because I was curious,” she says before looking down. “And, admittedly, I was worried about the giant fucking hole I thought I’d just found in my sister’s security. But, you know, turns out it was just you trying to be a good person and reaching out to your family. Not passing on information or being an awful spy or anything.”

He’s still staring at her and it’s making her nervous. “I mean, I don’t know how many you sent or anything. I didn’t check them all. But the timestamps are scattered all over the five years.”

Thexan wets his lips, eyes still wide. “He... he never responded. I thought…” he starts roughly before swallowing. “I thought he was just ignoring them.”

Calli shuffles closer, feeling a little bad for bringing it up. “I don’t know about you, but I tend to delete things I’m ignoring. Saving things onto private networks is kinda the opposite, ya’know?”

He sniffs, bright eyes glaring at her briefly. “Not responding for five years is basically ignoring.”

She shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t think they’re real? Wasn’t it the Spire who said you were fake?”

Thexan stiffens, and she decides she really does want the real story some day. Mostly because now she’s fucking curious. But not right now.

Struggling to lift the mood a bit she reaches out and pokes his shoulder, making him grunt in surprise. “Which, you know, is obviously ridiculous. You seem pretty real to me. Look, I can poke you and everything.”

His glare is a little less bright now, but equally as annoyed. “Why, thank you,” he says dryly.

She tilts her head to the side briefly. “Oh, and could you tell your mum when she’s back that she writes the best mission notes when she’s annoyed? Found a bunch of records about the Gilded Star too and personally I think her reports are the best. Few other people can maintain such a dry sense of humour when filling out so many details.”

He blinks. “Um, okay then?”

She shrugs again. “Hey it’ll make it easier to rob your stupid brother blind. It’ll be fun, promise.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I... don’t think I’ll tell Mother that part.”

She sighs dramatically. “Suit yourself princeling.”

He frowns hard, before apparently deciding not to question that nickname. “So your response to... all of this is to steal Arcann’s possessions?”

She nods guilelessly. “Duh. I mean I would punch the asshole if I could but you know, this is more fun and a bit easier.”

He turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “If you think he’s such an ‘ _asshole_ ’, why do you think this is bothering you so much?”

She almost freezes and scowls at the smug look on his face - he can totally tell he’s got her. “Because my hormones are yelling over my common sense,” she says primly, relishing in the annoyed look on his face at the implication.

He glares at her. “Okay, how about the _real_ reason?”

She goes quiet. “He’s still an asshole, no matter what,” she says at last. She’s not quite willing to admit to any other potential reasons.

Thexan seems to accept that. “Fair enough,” he says, before looking at her curiously. “Do you need a hug?”

She blinks. “What?”

Thexan sighs, looking a little nervous. “Do you need a hug?”

Calli frowns. “Do _you_ need a hug?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking flustered. “What? No, I don’t need a hug. I just thought you might and-”

Calli rolls her eyes and rises up on her knees, scooting over enough to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Just shush and accept the hugs,” she says grumpily.

Thexan tenses as soon as she touches him, but relaxes when she doesn't let go. The angle is a little awkward but he eventually moves one arm to hesitantly wrap around her too.

They sit there in silence for a few long moments before Thexan speaks again. “Well, Calli, thank you for being honest with me.”

Calli blinks at him, pulling back so she can see his face. “... okay, last time someone from your family said that to me, it led to the exact scenario I just finished explaining and well, I’m, uh, flattered! But uninterested. Thank you.”

Thexan blinks back at her, his own colour rising before he practically leaps back in horror, almost falling backwards since he was still sitting. “... fucking _stars_ , that is _not_ what I meant at all!”

Calli bursts out laughing and Thexan scowls at her. “That is not funny!”

She’s about to reply when her holocom goes off and she pulls it out of her pocket to see her sister’s harried face. “ _Calli! There you are. Can you come back to the conference room right away?_ ”

Calli tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sure Cera. What’s up?”

Her sister makes a frustrated noise, gesturing aimlessly before one of the twins runs into the frame and starts tugging on her tunic. “ _The Gravestone was attacked upon leaving the swamps. A ship that size is bound to draw attention and someone’s going to recognise it. I want to send you to Asylum to meet them there and help hide the ship’s tracks as much as possible before the Eternal Fleet tracks them down. You’ll probably beat them there too._ ”

Thexan makes a startled noise next to her and she tenses. “You want to send _me_ to Asylum? Why am I sensing a trap?”

Cera huffs, pulling Nicola up onto her hip. “ _Okay, so maybe SCORPIO is going too, and I want someone to keep an eye on them as well.”_

“Fucking hells, I’m not bloody looking after that asshole piece of shit droid, Cera! Can’t you fucking send someone else?”

She remembers too late she should’ve watched her mouth due to the presence of her niece when Nicola grins widely and Cera’s expression promises murder. “ _CALLISTRA_!”

Oh _fuck_ , she’s in for it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely Ona'la and the personality of her husband Thexan belong to the ever-lovely and ever-fantastic beta, Defira! (Yes Thexan totally belongs to her ok, Bioware has barely written him, it counts). A lot of the themes mentioned in this chapter (the brothers' rings and Thexan's letters etc) and of course Ona'la and Thexan's canon love story, are from her spectacular fics, which if you haven't read you definitely should right now because they are fantastic.


	8. Asylum

It feels like a lifetime later when the Gravestone finally limps into port on Asylum, the tensions on the ship running near to boiling point until it’s not too hard to imagine the pressure inside the ship breaking through the cracks outside the ship. The fighting above Zakuul had been brief but brutal, and it was clear that Risha’s estimate on only needing a hyperdrive part to finalise the ship’s repairs was no longer accurate.

Koth had left the cockpit to contact his crew, who had apparently been waiting on Asylum for them, and Geralt is the one to dock the ship, grimacing at the angry squeal of metal on metal as it pulls up to berth. Asylum clearly wasn’t designed for a ship of this size, and the strain on the docking ports is evident.

Lieca frowns from behind him, fingers gripping tight to the back of his chair while she represses the urge to try to shield portions of the ship, or at least its inhabitants. Old habits die hard, but she knows better now than she did the first time she tried to shield a ship with the Force - and that was only a transport shuttle, shortly after the beginning of the Sacking of Coruscant. Trying to shield a ship of this size would just be ridiculous.

Risha smiles at her from the co-pilot’s seat as Geralt relaxes and sits back, huffing as the Jedi ruffles his hair. “Since we’re finally safe, at least temporarily, I’m going to go call the kids.”

Lieca makes a soft sound of distress as Geralt smoothly stands up and moves towards his wife. “You haven’t spoken to them?”

Risha briefly smiles gratefully at Geralt, fingers still toying with some of the keys on the command console. “It wasn’t safe to call them while we were on Zakuul,” she says softly, frowning at Lieca’s stricken look. “We could send text messages back and forth occasionally through Holiday, but audio and video was just too risky. Safest to wait and all.”

Geralt gently squeezes Risha’s shoulder, looking unusually sombre, and she responds by reaching up to place her hand over his and lean her head against it.

Lieca winces, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over her shoulders again. Geralt’s eyes suddenly snap to hers as though he can sense it. “Don’t you dare Lieca, it’s not your fault,” he all but growls. “We _chose_ to be here. The kids are safe, and we’ll see them soon.”

Risha frowns. “Exactly. Don’t you dare,” she says, before pausing. “However, if you’re feeling guilty, I would like to take this opportunity to recommend you not get yourself kidnapped to a previously unknown planet again. That would ease our worries considerably.”

Lieca chuckles weakly. “Alright Risha, if I have the choice, I’ll try to _only_ get kidnapped to worlds I’m already on at the time? Just for you.”

Risha nods, squeezing Geralt’s hand and stepping away. “Excellent. I’ll hold you to that.”

Geralt pouts. “Oh, I see, you’ll make promises to my _wife_ but not to _me_. I thought we were _friends_ , Lieca.”

Lieca smiles, the expression far more genuine. “Of course we are Geralt. But she is far prettier than you,” she teases.

He gasps dramatically, moving his hand over his heart. “How dare you. Take that back!”

Risha turns back, hands on hips, and his expression changes so fast Lieca is fairly certain he almost gave himself whiplash. “Riiiiiiiisha, _sweetheart_ , of _course_ you are beautiful and ravishing and amazing. I’m just defending my honour!”

The women exchange dry looks, and he pouts. “Don’t say it,” he mutters grumpily, and Risha smirks.

She winks at Lieca. “See, I told you he was finally learning,” she says playfully, before her expression sombers again. “At least we have more accessibility to parts here. I’ve already sent through my updated requests to our suppliers, and they seem far more amenable so far.”

Lieca blinks. “That reminds me,” she says uncertainly. “How are we even paying for all of this?”

Geralt raises his hand for a moment, grinning lazily at her raised eyebrows. “Yo,” he drawls.

Risha sighs at his theatrics. “Yes, the Voidhound is contributing, all hail his magnanimous generosity etcetera, but it’s actually mostly Jahlia and Nikos. Turns out she was finally able to sufficiently prove her ancestor was that Lord Kallig fellow, and she used her position on the Dark Council to demand her family estate and vaults be returned to her.”

Geralt sighs back, significantly more whimsical than Risha’s earlier sound. “I can only dream of inheriting that much wealth with that much compounding interest,” he says wistfully.

Risha frowns at her husband, and Lieca raises her eyebrow further. “Geralt, didn’t you and Risha find Nok Drayen’s treasure together? And sack that Imperial treasury fleet? Wasn’t that enough to, I don’t know, fulfil those dreams?”

He grunts in annoyance, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded. “Okay, _first_ of all, Nok’s treasure was basically just a giant trap. _Second_ of all, the only thing I was able to loot was the crown, which is worthless on the open market. And technically that was Calli. _Thirdly_ \- okay Risha, don’t look at me like that, I wouldn’t _actually_ try to sell your crown, baby, I swear - _thirdly_! Ahem. The _only_ reason I survived was because Risha just couldn’t resist my handsome face, and really, she could’ve given in _much_ earlier and saved us all so much trouble _OW_ Risha! That’s my ear!”

Lieca giggles behind her hand as Risha lets go of his ear, her voice turning almost syrupy sweet. “Now now darling,” she coos, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Geralt coughs awkwardly. “Ahem. So anyway, those finds were good, but we always need more! Especially for, you know, funding some kind of resistance army. We should hopefully be getting a good score soon - I’ve only been taking out of the retirement fund so far, but now that we’re out of the swamp, we can concentrate on the next gig!”

Both women blink at him, and he pouts. “Yes, I am capable of planning things!” he says indignantly.

Risha shakes her head in amusement, smiling indulgently. “Of course, dear. I’m going to go call Vette and the kids now. Try not to break anything else before the port master calls.”

Geralt glares at her back as she leaves, still leaning on the wall and briefly imitating his wife’s voice. “Don’t break anything Geralt nyeh nyeh nyeh I am perfectly capable of not breaking anything for the five minutes until we hear from the port master!”

As if on cue, the panel under his elbow immediately gives way and he almost falls over, cursing, as his balance shifts.

Lieca tries to keep her expression blank when he finishes glaring at the panel and turns to her, but evidently her eyes were still laughing and he scowls. “Haha, very funny Lieca,” he says, momentarily distracted as the all clear from the dock master echoes through the cockpit.

She smiles. “That wasn’t me-” she starts, but Geralt clamps his hands over his ears.

He then winks at her to show he’s teasing and turns on his heel to follow his wife, already starting to whine again. “Riiiiiiiishaaaaa!”

Lieca shakes her head in amusement too, about to follow him when Senya appears in the doorway. “Ah, Lieca, here you are.”

She nods in greeting. “Hello Senya. What can I do for you?”

Senya nods back, smiling. “I have spoken with the Scions and they have agreed to meet with you. I would have pushed for Lana too, as I’m sure she would enjoy seeing their perspectives of the Force, but I would prefer she stay with the ship. It’s going to be some time before we can safely leave this place, and the longer we’re here the higher the risk someone recognises us. Leaving at least one Force-user behind as defence is probably the smartest choice.”

Lieca nods. “I agree, that sounds fine. I’ll speak to Lana shortly - she’s just calling her wife at present.”

The older woman smiles indulgently. “Yes, I wouldn’t want to interrupt them. They seem to have a rare flair for discretion when the occasion calls for it, but the time since your rescue has been difficult for them.” She sighs, something sad lingering in her eyes. “For all of us, really. I can’t imagine the Wrath is taking the news of Lana’s injuries well, but at least she can confirm she is recovering admirably.”

Lieca tilts her head to the side. “There’s no-one you need to call?”

Senya’s smile softens, but the sadness still clings to her. “My eldest son and his family are safe with yours, and my other children would not care to hear from me even if I tried. I will leave the console to those whose families are further separated by space and time,” she says before smiling indulgently. As if on cue, a chime sounds in her pocket, and she pulls her commlink out with a look of surprise. “Or rather, I’ll be content with simple messaging, since apparently my son is too eager to wait for my return.”

Lieca nods, not quite sure what to make of such a statement, and Senya’s expression shifts to neutral too quickly to be anything other than suspicious. “Are you going to use the console?” she asks politely.

She flinches, shifting her arms up around herself in a vague approximation of a hug. “I’m afraid I might make things worse,” she says softly.

Senya looks sympathetic, clucking her tongue as she touches the younger woman’s shoulder. “I will not say that it won’t be difficult,” she says quietly. “I struggled to reach out to Thexan after our time apart. But you should not let fear dictate your actions - your family loves you and hearing from you in person will lift a great weight from their shoulders.” Her hand reaches up to cup her cheek, and although it has been decades since she lost her own mother, Lieca cannot help but feel like a young girl again, looking to a mother figure for love and reassurance that hope was not lost. “Do not let regret become your companion, as I did. I will never get back those years apart from my children, and not a day goes past that I do not regret not having the courage to fight for them. And, regardless of what hindsight may have taught me, it was a far more active choice for myself and my family as opposed to yours.”

Lieca closes her eyes but nods shakily. Senya’s hand falls away, and she steps back. “I will go ensure that the main console is free, and request that Geralt remains nearby. You do not go through this burden alone my dear.”

Lieca smiles, fingers tightening on her arms, and after taking the time to compose herself, she finds the communal lounge empty, as Senya had promised. She comes to a stop before the console, steeling herself to press the final button to open communications.

One person at a time.

With shaking fingers, she activates the console. “Holiday?” she asks quietly.

The achingly familiar pink form of her favourite AI appears almost instantly, and the two stare at each for only a moment before bursting into tears simultaneously, followed by inelegant blubbering from both of them.

It takes a good half a minute before Lieca is able to calm down enough to take a deep breath, running her hands over her cheeks to try to wipe away her tears; Holiday, being an AI, is of course not capable of physically crying, but mimics her movements all the same, dabbing at her eyes with a conjured handkerchief. “Force, it’s so good to see you,” Lieca sniffs, her smile blinding as her friend grins too.

The AI looks very pleased, quickly clasping her hands together. “Oh Lieca, I’m so _happy_ to finally hear from you! We’ve been oh so _worried_ , my darling Tharan and I! I so hoped you would call through as soon as you reached Asylum, I’ve missed your voice!”

Lieca laughs shakily, still wiping at her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too Holiday, so much,” she says sincerely. “It’s wonderful to finally be able to speak to you.”

Holiday purses her lips, her image flickering as she resets her expression to hide the results of the tears. “Likewise. Oh, text messages are just not enough are they? I know it was for our protection, but I did so want to just call you sometimes, have a good old girl talk.”

Her expression flickers again as she folds her arms, and Lieca braces herself. “I was expecting to hear from you a little earlier though,” she says hesitantly, sounding a little reproachful. “I have been right here the entire time, dearest.”

Lieca winces, arms shifting around herself again. “I-I know Holiday. It was just... everyone was so worried about us being found and I was stressed and-”

“And the only reason you’re calling is because Senya asked you to.”

Lieca flinches at the well earned reprimand, and Holiday’s face drops as she continues. “Oh darling, we understand. This can’t have been easy for you. But you shouldn’t shut us out, we’re your family! You might think it’s for our protection, but we love you and just want to know you’re okay. It’s going to be hard, but we’re here for you. Promise!”

Lieca sniffs but nods, feeling more relieved. “Thank you Holiday,” she says softly. “I love you too.”

Holiday sniffs back, wiping at her eyes. “Good. Now, who did you want first?”

“Cera. Please also locate Flissa.”

“Done! Connecting now.”

It’s only a few moments before her twin’s image flickers to life on the console, the other woman looking to the side, and her heart leaps into her throat. “ _Holiday, honey, what is it? I’m juggling like five kids right now, and Anya already took Arch hostage for extra dessert so please make this fast!”_

Lieca giggles, eyes quickly shining with tears again. “It’s not Holiday,” she says shakily.

Cera’s eyes snap up, the piercing blue flashing even through electronics, and she shrieks. _“Lieca! Oh, thank the Force you finally called, we’ve been going crazy over here! You know it drives me up the wall to not talk to you properly honestly sis._ ”

Lieca smiles, swiping at her cheeks again as she feels her connection to the Force grow steadier just from talking to her sister. The flare of affection is near-tangible, and she playfully pushes back before using it to strengthen the shields against Valkorion.

Her Force-bond with her twin has survived everything else their lives have thrown at them - it’s pleasing that it’s survived this too. It’s obviously the longest they’ve been apart their entire lives - and she can tell just from the lines at her sister’s eyes the strain that it has put on her. Cera visibly looks older, like she’s carrying the weight of their five years apart and more, and seeing her twin look actually physically older than her drives home just how much she’s missed, and just how much she’s lost.

They’ve never needed to only use words to tell each other how they feel, and Cera frowns immediately. “ _Liss, it’s not your fault, so don’t you dare start that again_ ,” she scowls. “ _I chose this, same as you. How many times do I have to tell y-_ ”

Lieca huffs. “Doing my job for five years isn’t exactly ideal-”

“ _Yeah, and neither was you doing mine the last time his Royal Stupidness tried this. Just because he’s been a little more successful this time means nothing_.” She looks distracted, always glancing to the side as if there are numerous things going on just outside the frame of the holo. “ _Yes, there’s still some kids here, so don’t you dare laugh at my langua- Nicola! Put that down!_ ”

She chuckles, and then immediately the two of them wince. Lieca puts a hand up to her head, a gesture that Cera mirrors; between the two of them, the pressure in her skull eases, and the attempt against her shields fails. The shared connection is like a glass of cold water after days lost under Tatooine’s suns, and she longs to be back home even more now.

Cera looks to the side and smiles, and the swell of emotion she feels from her sister is enough to have her biting her lip to keep herself from crying. “ _Flissa! There you are honey. Come say hi to your mum._ ”

Lieca swallows and tries desperately not to cry again as her absolutely perfect daughter steps into the shot. Brief taunting visions are nothing on seeing her now in person, and her heart aches to hold her so badly that it feels like her chest is crushing her. “Hello my darling,” she chokes out, swallowing again. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Flissa also looks to be fighting back tears, twirling a dark lock of hair around her fingers. “ _Hi Mama_ ,” she says shyly, lip trembling. “ _I miss you too._ ”

Cera steps back a little and kneels down so that Flissa can step forward while Lieca starts softly crying again. There’s so much to say that she almost feels overwhelmed. “You only get more beautiful every time I see you, honey. You’ve been so strong and I’m so proud,” she chokes out, taking deep breaths to try to stop herself falling into hysterics again.

Flissa’s smile lights up the room for a moment before it fades into a frown. “ _When are you coming home?_ ” she says, weary brown eyes already seeming aware of the answer.

Cera reaches forward to squeeze her shoulder. “ _I told you sweetheart, only a little while more,_ ” she interrupts gently. “ _Aunty Risha just needs to make a few more repairs to the ship so it’s safe to fly. You know she’s doing the best she can._ ”

Lieca winces as Flissa’s lip trembles but the girl nods, squaring her shoulders. “ _Aunty Risha is the best mechanic ever_ ,” she declares, her voice adopting a sing-song quality as though reciting something she’s heard several times before.

Lieca jumps as she feels a hand on her shoulder, and realises Geralt had crept in while she wasn’t looking. “Of course she is!” he affirms proudly, winking at his eldest niece. “She’ll be pleased to know you agree!”

Flissa blinks, momentarily startled from her upset mood. “ _Hi Uncle Geralt_ ,” she says quietly.

He grins, not releasing Lieca’s shoulder. “How’s my favourite little Jedi in training? You looking after everyone like I asked?”

Flissa nods, frowning. “ _Of course! Are you?_ ” she responds haughtily.

He grins, leaning forward to noisily kiss Lieca’s cheek before she bats him away in annoyance. “Of course! See, your mum’s all in one piece. Hasn’t even thrown anything at me yet! Lieca, sweetheart, I was only teasing; please don’t throw that cup at me.”

Flissa raises an eyebrow before turning back to Lieca. “ _So, home soon?_ ” she says, and the weary, hesitant tone breaks Lieca’s heart.

She nods firmly. “As soon as I can, my darling. I have a perfect daughter to hug. I wouldn’t miss that for all the stars.”

Flissa’s eyes visibly well up with tears and Cera quickly moves to hug her from behind. “ _Okay_ ,” she says softly, squeezing Cera’s arm. “ _Love you Mama_.”

Lieca swallows and nods. “Love you too, honey. So much. See you soon!”

Cera looks up for a moment, well aware of what they all need even without words, and stops the connection with a tilt of her head.

Lieca bursts into tears again as soon as the video drops, collapsing on the floor. Geralt makes a startled noise as soon as she moves, quickly kneeling down to pull her into his arms, trying to comfort her as Cera is no doubt comforting Flissa.

She angrily pushes back at the _intruder_ trying to interrupt her grief, focusing on the soothing words Geralt is muttering as he strokes her hair instead of the smug sense of mockery seeping through her.

She can still sense her sister out there, Cera’s soothing presence doing more for her than hours of meditation ever could. She’s an anchor, a rock for her to cling to in the storm trying to consume her, and even though it hurts to see her daughter so distraught, knowing that Cera is there with her makes it more bearable. She saw Flissa grow, she nurtured her and loved her as if she were her own daughter; Lieca only had the taunting visions, but even so it helps her connect the toddler she left behind with the young girl she has now. She can cope, but it still hurts so much to see her family and know she can’t hold them yet.

And she’s not foolish - she knows exactly why Geralt is here, and it’s entirely for her benefit. Here on the mission in general, as opposed to here in the room with her. Supporting Risha had to have played a heavy role in the decision making process, but the only reason he was allowed to join his wife and not stay with their children was because of the role he’s playing here. A comforting friend to keep Lieca sane until she can get home.

But his arms around her just remind her of another call long overdue, and she pulls back, sniffing and wiping at her cheeks again. His pale blue eyes watch her sadly, his face uncharacteristically solemn. He might not have the Force at all, but he can still read her like a book.

He gently tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to stay or go for this one?” he asks quietly, and the fact he has to ask at all provides another reason why this next call is necessary.

She takes a deep breath, instinctively slipping into a meditative state for a few moments to calm her racing heart. Geralt is used to her tuning out like this when she’s overwhelmed, so he doesn’t say anything until her eyes open again.

He squeezes her hand, smiling. “Come on sweetheart, you can do it. I’ll just be over here,” he says before grinning wider. “Try to keep it clean okay, my delicate ears can’t take much.”

She snorts and hits his shoulder, giggling as he laughs, rolls away and leaps up in one smooth motion before helping her to her feet. “The day I have to chaperone is the day we are all doomed,” he says dryly, quickly retreating.

“You’ve got that right,” she giggles before turning back to the console and taking a deep breath. “Holiday?”

The hologram flickers and the solemn-looking AI reappears, hand over heart. “Yes Lieca? What do you need, honey?”

She swallows, feeling Geralt’s eyes on her back. “Please connect me to Theron.”

The hologram nods, fading out. It takes a few moments for the call to connect, and Lieca feels fresh tears in her eyes at the all too familiar sight of Theron Shan sprawled across a couch.

He’s looking at a datapad propped up against his raised knee, expression strained. “ _Hey Holiday, what’s up?_ ” he greets wearily.

She laughs shakily. “What, do I look pink to everyone today?”

She sees his eyes widen and he swings his legs off the couch to face the console directly so fast she’s actually surprised he didn't fall off. “ _Lieca_!” he exclaims, and she swallows again at the rush of emotions he shows in just her name. “ _I-uh, I wasn't expecting you.”_

She clasps her hands in front of her, almost trembling. “If you're busy…?” she asks quietly.

He shakes his head so fast he seems to twinge his neck judging from the way he immediately lifts a hand to rub it. “ _No! No, please. Stay,_ ” he says, voice hoarse.

She smiles in amusement, nodding back. “Okay,” she answers, taking a few moments just to watch him. She aches to heal his neck almost as much as she aches to simply hold him again - a healer’s instincts never quite fade. She shakes herself and her smile turns sweet. “It’s so good to see you.”

He chuckles awkwardly, still rubbing his neck. “ _Likewise. You're a sight for sore eyes y’know,_ ” he says, wincing as though aware of how corny he sounds.

But she likes his cornier side, as much as he hates it, and can always read him when he’s deflecting or speaking half-truths. “You’re not sleeping properly, are you,” she says worriedly.

He blinks rapidly before smiling almost self-deprecatingly. “ _You try sleeping when your gir-_ ” and here he stumbles, clumsy with his words in a way he hasn’t been with her for a long, long time “ _-when someone is being rescued and everything keeps going sideways with us all scrambling to cover it. And I’m not even in charge this time! Guess I can't be blamed for once._ ”

His hesitation hurts, as much as she understands it. She must have made some sort of movement because his eyes soften as he watches her, shifting to awkwardly rub the back of his head. “ _Of course I - we - would rather have you here, but as long as you're safe that's what matters,_ ” he says before coughing. “ _Abelli, do you mind?_ ”

She blinks and turns around to see Geralt quickly moving into a bow before she can see what he was doing. “Not at all Shan,” he says innocently. “I’m helping!”

Theron glares at him and she sighs, moving one hand to her forehead to rub away the headache she can feel forming at the tension between them both before Theron speaks again. “ _Okay Abelli, in what universe is that helping? And why are you even here?_ ”

Geralt grins, stepping forward to wrap his arm around her shoulders and almost knock her off balance. “Why, I am here to keep the lovely Lieca company of course,” he says, but something about his tone seems off, almost hostile. “You know, like _you_ should be.”

She winces at the clear spike of Theron’s temper, his expression like a thundercloud, and she realises this is an old argument between them. “Okay Geralt, that’s lovely, but could you please wait outside?” she asks, through somewhat gritted teeth.

He’s too tense against her, protective in a way he’s never been with her, only Calli. She wonders how much of it is an act, how much of it is truly on her behalf, and how much is a projection of his stress about his little sister in all but name. Calli is the reason Flissa and her nieces call him Uncle, after all, and she’s not the only one worried about Calli’s part in her rescue.

But when she pushes his shoulder he relents, though his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He salutes mockingly and turns on his heel to leave the room, the hiss of the door closing behind him as final as the passing of his temper, like a rolling thunderstorm vanishing over the horizon.

She rubs the bridge of her nose and Theron coughs again, visibly awkward. She quickly raises a hand to stop him when he opens his mouth. “It’s fine Theron, I’m not upset that you weren’t here. I know you have your own responsibilities and I wouldn't want you to abandon them for-”

“- _Lieca_.”

“No, no, it’s fine Theron. You didn’t need to be here and I know you have other things to do and-”

“- ** _Lieca_**.”

She stops and he’s just watching her, golden brown eyes sad and stressed. “ _I-I wanted to be there. For you. Geralt and I, we… argued about it a lot. He thought I should be there. But Lana was the one who needed to rescue you, we knew it had to be a Force-user so they stood a damn chance against the Knights or against the Emperor and his sister, and it was too dangerous to send too many of us,_ ” he says quietly, before grinning with a duck of his head. “ _Plus apparently I’m your spymaster now - so you know, had to stay put, do all the spying.”_

She blinks. “ _My_ spymaster?”

“ _Always yours_ ,” he says softly, before his posture turns awkward as though he’s blushing. It’s hard to tell through the holocom. He then sighs, slumping his shoulders and looking down. “ _And, you know, I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you._ ”

She might be confused at that, but he looks so forlorn she desperately wants to hug him. “Theron, what are you talking about?”

He doesn’t look up, tensing somewhat as though expecting a blow. “ _Five years is a long time okay? And I’ll-I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind. About me. But I didn't want you to have to worry about sorting that out on top of everything else after just waking up and-”_

“Theron.”

He looks up, still looking a little upset, and she wishes she could be there beside him to reassure him in person. But then, everything would be easier if she was back with him. “It doesn’t feel like five years to me,” she says quickly, before looking away too, feeling shy. “And my-my feelings haven't changed.”

She then frowns. It’s probably a bit rude to just assume. “I mean, if yours have, we’ll figure it-”

“ _They haven't_.”

She can feel her cheeks heat up as she looks back to his pleased expression, but it makes her smile. “Good,” she says softly, fairly certain they’re both blushing now. “So, it would have been okay if you were here. For that reason, at least - but I understand why you weren’t. Now you just have to wait until I’m home.”

He chuckles, tone dry. “ _Ah, there we go. The real punishment at last. I suppose it serves me right_ ,” he says softly, his voice wavering slightly.

She folds her arms. “Exactly. So you better behave yourself until I’m back so you don’t get in more trouble.”

His tone turns sly. “ _But I like being in trouble with you_ ,” he drawls.

She flushes. “Well, I- damnit, Theron!”

He laughs, his whole face relaxing - clearly enjoying flustering her as much as he ever has, and she’s about to retort properly when she sees the command console light up with an alert from Holiday and she curses instead.

Theron’s playful expression quickly switches to concern. “ _What is it, what’s wrong?_ ”

She sighs in frustration. “No no, it’s fine. But something’s come up. I-I have to go.”

He nods and visibly swallows. “ _Alright then. Stay-stay safe out there alright?_ ”

She nods back. “Same to you. Lov- um, I’ll see you soon.”

He grins, but it’s clearly sad. “ _You better_ ,” he says softly before disconnecting the call.

She takes a few moments to center herself, trying to breathe and hold the tears back, when Geralt’s joyous _whoop_ breaks her concentration and she turns towards the door in confusion.

Holiday appears again, looking gleeful with her hands clasped in front of her. “Lieca! Oh, darling, there you are. I’m so sorry to interrupt but something’s come up. Can you come to the ship’s entrance, super pretty please?”

Blinking in confusion, she nods and turns on her heel to leave. She can hear a commotion echoing through the halls and corridors of the Gravestone, and if it wasn’t for Holiday’s relaxed mood she would have been concerned that they were under attack. It’s not until she gets to the entrance and sees Geralt gleefully spinning Calli around in the air that she understands, and she lets out a soft cry of her own, all but racing the last few feet to her.

Geralt wisely puts Calli down just before she reaches them, and Lieca all but tackles her. She nearly knocks her sister down from the force of her hug, judging from her stumbling and swearing, but Calli’s arms tighten around her, if a little awkwardly, so she knows it’s okay.

She is _so glad_ her sister is safe.

When she finally pulls back, their matching eyes are both glistening with tears even despite all the awkwardness Calli is projecting. “Hey sis,” she says softly, almost hesitantly.

Lieca cups Calli’s cheek, still not quite believing that her baby sister is here in front of her. “I’m so glad to see you,” she says earnestly, quickly leaning forward to kiss her forehead; Calli yelps awkwardly and half ducks away and out of reach.

The touching reunion is of course interrupted, but in all her wildest imaginings, she wasn’t exactly expecting the interrupter to be SCORPIO, and she blinks at the droid as she steps up behind Calli. “SCORPIO? What are you doing here?”

SCORPIO sighs. “I am here to see the Gravestone. I require access to its systems,” the droid responds, golden eyes glowing in a way that somehow seems malicious.

Lieca raises an eyebrow and looks at Calli, who looks slightly flushed. “Cal?”

Her sister turns to glare at the droid for a second before turning back to her. “It’s not my fault, okay? SCORPIO’s been tagging along since Zakuul and insisted on coming here. And - well, since, you know, you’re free now, I don’t have anything else to do, so Cera made me come too,” she says before coughing awkwardly. “I mean, _of course_ I still wanted to see you anyway... oh fuck.”

It’s been five years, and so much has changed, but Calli is still the same beautiful, awkward person she was before. It makes her happy enough to hug her again without warning, wrapping her arms around her while Calli squawks in surprise. “It’s okay, I know what you mean,” she murmurs into her hair, and Calli’s cheeks are flushed when she steps back.

Her sister shyly tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, smiling in greeting at Risha before SCORPIO pushes past them all and strides inside, ignoring Calli’s snarled protestation.

Geralt reaches out to grab Calli’s shoulder, squeezing in apparent warning before lifting her off her feet to spin her around again in another big hug while she curses and tries to wriggle free. Lieca laughs and at Risha’s cautious look, turns to follow SCORPIO inside. Calli’s colourful language echoes behind them.

The droid is standing in front of the main console in the cockpit when they catch up, somehow generating an air of displeasure - an admirable achievement given that the faceplate cannot physically frown. “What have you been doing to this vessel?” SCORPIO asks scornfully, reaching out to insert a spike into the dataport.

Koth, from his position crouched next to the wall and trying to repair the closest panel, shouts in anger and starts towards the console when SCORPIO suddenly freezes. “Fascinating,” the droid murmurs before an electric shock engulfs SCORPIO and blasts the spike away.

Holiday’s image flickers into view above the console, arms folded and looking very cross. “Excuse me! That is just, unbelievably rude!” she scolds. “How would you like it if I just stuck spikes into you!”

SCORPIO’s eyes seem to flicker as the electricity clears, clearly imitating the human response of blinking in confusion. “What are you doing here?” the droid says crossly.

Holiday glares, all but stamping her foot. “ _I_ was here first, thank you very much. Who just walks right up to a console and sticks things in without any warning whatsoever? It’s just, _ugh_ , so rude!”

SCORPIO’s eyes start glowing and the spike is returned to the dataport. “Desist your posturing and get out of my way.”

Holiday frowns and merely zaps SCORPIO again, the electricity looking stronger this time. “Well I never!” she huffs. “Go away, you rude droid!”

“I am not a droid, I am a being beyond your-”

“Droid droid droid droid DROID! Go away!”

SCORPIO snarls and Lieca hurriedly intervenes. “Ah, excuse me, but can you two please not do this right now?” she pleads, looking to Holiday who is at least more likely to listen to her.

Holiday scowls, hands on her hips now. “SCORPIO started it! The droid should know better than to just stick their grubby little dataspikes into my precious data. I’ve spent _hours_ working on that!”

“And yet I nearly destroyed it in seconds. How quaint.”

Lieca rubs her forehead while Holiday scowls and various electronics in the room start sparking, including the panel Koth was working on as he leaps backwards with a yelp. Lieca frowns and moves over towards him, grabbing his hand and gently directing the Force to his singed fingertips.

He smiles gratefully at her, which she returns before turning back to the middle of the room, expression already set and Holiday nearly flinching at the look on her face. “That’s enough,” she says coldly.

SCORPIO seems about to respond when she narrows her eyes. “I said, that is _enough_ , SCORPIO. Stop acting like a child and learn to share or you can just leave. I will not tolerate such blatant rudeness on my ship.”

“The Gravestone is not yours, Jedi.”

Lieca folds her arms. “Perhaps not. But when my people are the ones who have sacrificed the past year to restore the ship, it is more mine than someone who tries to barge in at the last second after all the work is done.”

SCORPIO glances around the room, clearly scornful. “It seems you have a long way to go.”

“And are you going to help or continue being obnoxious? You are not welcome here unless you are here to help someone other than yourself.”

SCORPIO glares in silence, bright golden eyes somehow clearly communicating her displeasure.

Lieca sighs. “If you promise to behave, you may have access to _parts_ of the ship. But touch any of Holiday’s data and you will be asked to leave immediately, do I make myself clear?”

Koth’s holocom beeps and he looks up sheepishly as all eyes in the room turn to him. “Ah, excuse me, I’ll just be a second,” he says quickly, winking at Lieca on his way out.

She smiles in amusement for a moment, suspecting Lana is on the other end of the call to rescue him from the terse confrontation, before turning a stern eye back on the droid and Holiday. “SCORPIO, I will not tell you again.”

SCORPIO continues glaring but the Jedi does not back down and eventually the droid looks away. “Fine,” SCORPIO sulks.

Lieca nods politely, momentarily distracted by sounds from the front of the ship, and HK enters the room. “Interjection: Master, Senya reports that the Scions have agreed to meet with you now. Caution: Koth’s crew have also arrived and appear to be arguing with the others.”

Lieca sighs. _Put out one fire, and a dozen more flare up_. “Thanks HK. Can you stay here and keep an eye on SCORPIO and Holiday? Let me know there's any trouble.”

HK nods. “Affirmation: Yes Master.”

Holiday looks offended, a hand up to her chest as if in outrage; it’s not until Lieca winks at her that she relaxes, and Lieca turns to go and confront this new calamity.

Once outside, the battle lines already seem drawn, with Calli, Risha, Geralt and Pierce on one side of the hangar bay, and an eccentric group of strangers she can only assume are Koth’s crew on the other. In the middle, between the two groups, Lana and Senya stand like silent, glowering overseers, with a sheepish looking Koth between them trying to act like a mediator. The trouble seems to mostly be coming from a blue-haired woman in Koth’s crew, whom Risha and Geralt both look like they're about to deck.

Koth’s expression rapidly shifts to annoyance as the woman speaks. “Just because you couldn’t fix this hunk of junk!” she jeers.

He scowls. “Stand down Tora. They’ve down a blasted good job. The fact the entire ship didn’t fall apart when the Fleet attacked is a damn miracle.”

The engineer barks in harsh laughter and Calli steps forward. “Yo Tora, wanna pass on how well _negotiations_ went for the detonators Koth wanted?” she says coolly, gesturing to her ammo belt. “Or you wanna let the engineer who survived the Long Shadow work?”

Lana is already facepalming and Senya’s cool expression is at odds with the spike of curiosity she feels from her; Lieca turns her attention to the back of the group where a vaguely familiar man with a scar across his face and cybernetics curving around his eyes steps forward, directing a lifter droid behind him. “We have the parts you wanted,” he says, almost apologetically.

Risha steps forward, coolly ignoring Tora completely where she's now arguing with Calli. “Good man, Ralo. I’ll take that.”

Koth sighs before raising his voice. “Alright, you mangy wooluks! Tora, you're with me. The rest of you - follow Risha or get yourselves thrown off the ship, we clear?”

The foremost man gulps as he turns to Risha, who is still standing there with her arms folded, chin high; she looks every bit the haughty queen in that moment. “Ma’am,” he says quickly, nodding his head respectfully, the others rapidly falling into line behind him.

Risha quirks an imperious eyebrow before turning on her heel and heading back into the depths of the ship, already assigning a team towards stabilising the reactor without looking back to see if they’re following. Geralt mock-salutes the rest of the group before gesturing for the others to follow him, still glaring suspiciously at Tora, who is finally quietly grumbling next to Calli.

Lieca takes a moment to internally breathe a sigh of relief before she looks to Lana, smiling apologetically at Koth as he and Tora enter the ship too. “Lana, can you and Pierce stay with the ship? Senya and I have to go meet the Scions and I would like to leave at least one Force-user behind.”

Calli is scowling after Tora’s retreating form, but she blinks at her sister. “The Scions? I thought Ar-the _Emperor_ had them all killed when he took over?”

Senya, who had been maintaining a dignified silence while the crews argued, seems intrigued by her statement and raises an eyebrow at Calli, who seems to pretend not to notice; Lieca realises with a great deal of trepidation that the curiosity she can feel from Senya is being directed at her sister, and she isn’t quite sure what to make of that. No one had said anything to her about it, but... was Calli’s relationship with the Emperor more widely known than she had assumed? Maybe she spent weeks charming her way into his good graces, and nobody has had the heart to tell her. Maybe the invasive little snippet that Valkorion had forced her to witness was just one of many encounters?

In the end, it’s Lana who answers the question, looking uncertainly between Calli and Senya. “That seems to be the official statement, yes. I imagine that that is what they say around Zakuul. But the reality is quite different - several of the Scions escaped the purge and over time, found their way here.”

Lieca decides to rescue her sister by deflecting. “I remember one of the Scions speaking to Arcann shortly before my... imprisonment,” she says carefully. “They didn’t seem to get along - Arcann seemed very dismissive of their warnings. Does the Force not tend to speak warnings to your people?” she asks Senya.

Senya turns her speculative eyes from Calli to Lieca, looking bemused. “If you mean precognitive warnings of danger coming? On a smaller scale, yes, though my abilities in that area have strengthened greatly since leaving Zakuul. But it’s not typically encouraged as a skill amongst the Knights. An instinctive warning of danger may be useful, but they are seen as a distraction and we are trained to suppress those feelings long before we are officially recognised as Knights.”

She gestures impatiently. “And precognition is all but unheard of amongst my people - except amongst the Scions. They are... _were_ … a division of the Knights who instead focused solely on the Force itself, learning to use it purely for the purpose of understanding fate and viewing visions of the past and future. They have always been considered infallible, their visions thought to be foolproof, and in Valkorion’s day they were often paired with the regular Knights,” she says quietly before her tone turns sorrowful. “But Arcann always detested the trappings of fate, and turned on the Scions almost immediately after taking the throne. The Knights they were paired with - they should have defended their partners. Instead they slaughtered them.”

Lieca frowns at the sense of malicious amusement it rouses in the back of her skull, pressing her fingers to her temple for a moment and drawing a concerned look from Lana. Damn it, not as subtle as she’d hoped. “And now the remaining Scions wish to join us for what, revenge? What have they been doing since leaving Zakuul?”

Senya looks uncomfortable. “I do not know - they rarely deal with outsiders now, and you can understand why they would be distrustful. But I do not believe they wish to harm you, and their previous reticence shows how important it is that they wish to meet with you now. Perhaps they know something that can help?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Calli frowning as well - not that she has ever had a great tolerance for what she refers to as ‘ _Force nonsense’_. “They are welcome to believe in all of their visions if that is their way,” Lieca says carefully. “To the Jedi, the future is so fluid - nothing can ever be certain. But I suppose there can be no harm in meeting them - especially if they are opposed to Arcann.”

Calli snorts, briefly drawing the attention of all three Force-users. “Yeah, cause all their visions _clearly_ helped them,” she scoffs, obviously uncomfortable at being the centre of attention but determined to make her point regardless.

Senya looks about to argue when Lieca raises her hand to silence her. “Sometimes you need a non-believer as much as a believer,” she says with a soft smile, Calli raising an eyebrow at her. “Cal, if the Scions have any data to share, do you want to come with us to see if you can, ah, increase it?”

Her sister twirls a dataspike over her fingers nervously before nodding. “Sure, I guess? It’s not like I can do much here - Risha’s going to have enough people underfoot as it is.”

Lieca nods. “Then it’s settled. Lana, we’ll stay in touch - call if you need.”

Lana frowns. “And the same to you. Be careful.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not long at all before the three women find themselves at the Scion stronghold, Lieca unable to shake her vague sense of foreboding. Is it Valkorion’s constant pressure that has her so unsettled, or something more? She focuses on the nervous energy of her sister to try to sidetrack herself - the slicer is all but bouncing on the balls of her feet, still fiddling with the dataspike with a speed that would make a card shark jealous. “Secret walls? Does this scream like a trap to anyone else? Either that or someone didn’t grow out of their secret fort building stage.”

Senya shoots her another curious look but heads inside without a word. Lieca smiles and squeezes Calli’s shoulder reassuringly, trying not to flinch when she jumps at the touch. But Calli turns briefly to give her a small smile, and it settles her heart enough that she can easily brush off the latest mocking whisper in her mind.

The women walk into the centre of the otherwise silent room, Lieca feeling her unease rise again as Senya folds her arms, clearly much calmer than the sisters. “Senya?”

The older woman shrugs. “We’ve established that the Scions no longer serve my son,” she says quietly, and Calli’s lack of reaction other than a slight stiffening of the shoulders means Senya’s relationship to the Emperor is not news to her. “Whether they will help us? Well, that’s about to be determined.”

Lieca flinches as a voice fills the room; a male voice, and vaguely familiar at that. The Scion she had seen arguing with Arcann on Zakuul five years ago? His voice is much less creepily persuasive than Valkorion’s, but easily just as unsettling with the clear undertone of rage. “Fate is a tale whispered to us by the Force. But the voices are silent about you. We must know why.”

She scans the room rapidly to try to place the owner of the voice, and Calli groans behind her. “Fucking drama queens,” she says dryly. “The whole _booming voices from nowhere_ schtick has been done before you know.”

Lieca hides a smile, privately agreeing with her sister’s sentiment - if not her way of expressing it - and calls out to the room at large. “I do not know why the Force is silent about me,” she says clearly, ignoring Calli somehow audibly rolling her eyes behind her. Her sister has such a gift for sarcasm. “Perhaps it is because of my own beliefs. I am defined by my own actions, and the will of the Force itself - it is my guide, and my companion, not a set of indisputable instructions.”

The ominous voice chuckles, but clearly is not amused. “If you want our help, Outlander, we need to understand what role you will play in Arcann’s defeat. As you do not adhere to our visions, we will need to test you in _other_ ways.”

All three women tense and Calli sighs as she replaces the dataspike she’s fiddling with with her blaster. “Just _once_ I’d like to be surprised,” she mutters, activating her stealth generator and stepping out of sight as Lieca and Senya pull out their lightsabers.

Senya glances at the spot Calli just vacated and Lieca smiles reassuringly. “She knows what she’s doing,” she says calmly, twisting the Force to shield herself and ignoring Valkorion’s whispers as two combatants jump down into the centre of the room from the shadowy balconies above.

Even after spending so much with Jezhara all those years ago and with Lana more recently, the flair of their bright red lightsabers still makes her instinctively flinch.

The woman seems about to speak when Calli flickers into view again, smashing her shotgun into the back of her head to knock her out and vanishing again when the man whirls to face her. He looks vaguely outraged and rather annoyed, as opposed to the facade of calm he’s clearly trying to project. “We take no pleasure in this trial,” he says uncertainly, still trying to discern Calli from the way his eyes rush over the room.

Seems Calli has the right idea. As soon as he is distracted, Lieca flicks the Force at Senya to shield her and hide her true intention of lifting a vase across the room and smashing it into his head before Senya can reach him.

Senya seems rather baffled as she turns back around just as Calli reappears next to the man. “Huh, solid hit Liss!” she says proudly, poking him with her foot. “And they say the Force can’t be smart.”

“I’m almost entirely certain no one says that, Cal.”

Calli tuts with mock disappointment. “And there you go, ruining it.”

Senya is still staring in confusion, her beautiful blue eyes flat as Calli collects the fallen lightsabers. “That was underhanded,” she says crossly, moving her own lightsaber back to her belt.

Lieca winces and rubs her temple again, forcing herself to focus on Calli rather than Valkorion as the pressure in her skull grows. “Well, so is luring us here under false pretences,” Calli says waspishly. “If this is a test, it's a terrible one.”

Lieca shudders and rolls her shoulders to shake off her feeling of unease. “Who leads the Scions?” she asks as she starts to leave the room.

Senya sighs and gestures for the sisters to wait until she’s in front. “Heskal. That was his voice we heard when we entered.”

Lieca frowns, her memories of the throne room growing stronger. “The man with the glowing eyes?”

Calli raises an eyebrow. “Oh, see now that’s not ominous _at all,_ ” she drawls sarcastically, pulling up the rear. “You know, I somehow doubt these Scions have much of use to us.”

Lieca sighs, nodding her head in agreement. “The only way out is forward,” she says tiredly, waving off her sister’s worried expression. “I’m fine, hon.” But despite her protests, even Senya waits to steady her as they climb the stairs to the next wide open room, clearly provided for the next stage of their trials. Just like in the swamps, it occurs to her too late that maybe all this physical exertion is not the best idea so soon after waking up from stasis and long term poisoning.

Apparently worry is making Calli snappier than normal as she all but stomps into the arena-type room before tilting her head back to yell at the ceiling. “Well? Hurry up with your stupid fucking tests so we can leave!”

Heskal’s voice grunts in annoyance. “ _So_ impatient. You were more tolerant when you encountered our agents earlier today.”

Calli scowls, still holding her blaster. “You’ve been watching us?”

“We are always watching,” he replies ominously. “So it stands that we know a great deal about you, _Callistra_.”

Her sister visibly shudders, and still looks furious when she turns around to look to Lieca and Senya - but there’s something in her eyes, something small and frightened, that makes Lieca’s temper rise. “Ok so we’ve established that these guys are fucking creepy, now what?”

The lighting in the room flickers ominously and Calli jumps back with a furiously shrill shriek when a hologram of the Emperor appears next to her. She doesn’t even have to ask - the spike of guilt mingled with panicked fear she can feel from her tells her everything she needs to know

Furious at the threatening mockery extended towards her sister, Lieca steps forward and pulls Calli behind her, matching her sister’s stormy expression as she glares up towards the balcony overlooking the room where Heskal has finally revealed himself.

His eyes are still glowing white as they were five years ago, somehow far more unsettling than the way hers and Cera’s eyes glow when they are concentrating on extremely taxing tasks with the Force. “Emperor Arcann’s destiny is to fall,” the Scion sneers, and Lieca feels Senya tense as she steps up behind her. “Our visions confirm this. But his final fate is blurred. When he is at your mercy, what will you do?”

Lieca frowns, feeling the ripple of rising tensions around the room like an uninvited hand sliding down her spine; she represses a shudder of revulsion. Is this part of their tests too? “Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?”

She can feel his sneer as though he is standing in front of her, not lurking ten feet above her in the shadows. “A true diplomat’s answer. Evasion will not help you here. What will you do?”

She sighs, instinctively bracing herself. “Death is not always the answer,” she says softly, repressing the flinch as the Scions react violently to her words. Their cries of frustration fill the air, rising towards the energy of an angry mob, and she has to lift her voice to be heard. “Justice is not always so final.”

Heskal snarls, his anger seething through the Force like a thunderclap. “A thousand Scions lie dead because of him! Death was final enough for them. Blood calls for blood!”

“So which do you want, justice or vengeance?” she snaps back, feeling Calli step closer to her.

Heskal leaps off the balcony, landing without a thud not far in front of them, shortly followed by his people as the hologram of Arcann vanishes and Calli marginally relaxes. “If you are not with us, _Outlander_ , then you are against us,” he growls, pulling his lightsaber off his belt. “We _will_ know your fate!”

Valkorion sneers in her mind at her choice, but with Calli so close and all but unarmed against a Force-user skilled enough to survive a mass extermination, she’s taking no chances. Before Heskal can ignite the blade or Senya can react to his clear threat, she takes a deep breath, draws in the Force, and _pushes_ it out hard enough to knock all the Scions off their feet.

Heskal remains standing, his robes buffeted as if by a high wind, and grits his teeth as the pressure forces him back a step; his glowing eyes match hers. “How _dare_ -” he begins, before she concentrates again and pushes him back again - hard enough this time to blow him into the wall.

Valkorion gloats in her mind about how easy the forceful option came to her, and she can only find the strength to ignore him when Calli’s fingers touch her arm; her sister’s eyes watch her worriedly. “Lieca?” she asks with concern, clearly aware of how uncharacteristic her response is.

She feels revulsion down her spine at the sound of Valkorion’s laughter, focusing on her sister. “I’m fine,” she says quickly, and the glow from her eyes fades.

Heskal makes a noise of comprehension as he starts to stand again, eyes glowing white still. “Ah,” he purrs, unconcerned by the way Senya ignites her lightsaber and moves to stand between them, “I see it now. You cannot hide from me any longer, Lieca Amell.”

All three women tense, Senya’s lightsaber a blazing blue between them.

The Scion grins, and the effect is quite startling matched with his white eyes. Almost manic. “The reason your future was hidden to me - our Immortal Emperor lives on, in your mind.”

Calli makes a noise of disgust beside her. “Yeah, you definitely sound just a little _too_ pleased about that for us to be able to trust you,” she snaps, glaring.

Heskal sighs and gestures for the Scions to stand down, but it does nothing to reassure Lieca. She frowns at him. “If you didn’t already know that, why are we here? Were you just curious?”

He shrugs. “We wanted to meet the women who have shaped Arcann’s past and will determine his future. Our Emperor is an unexpected but welcome outcome.”

Senya makes a soft noise and looks to Calli, who is very determinedly ignoring her while her face goes bright red. Lieca sighs. “Well, are you going to help us, or should we just leave?”

He looks briefly sad, eyes swirling between white and silver blue like the centre of a hurricane. “You are free to leave. We will contact you when it is ordained.”

Calli raises an eyebrow. “So... in other words, you are _completely_ useless and this was _completely_ pointless? If you just wanted to chant ominously at us, we could’ve done it over holo.”

“On the contrary, Calli, _we_ have learned a great deal. Every moment since you entered this grand dance was predestined, and everyone played the role assigned to them to perfection, just as the fates decreed it. Your dance in particular was of... _exceptional_ interest to us.”

Calli bristles instantly, and Lieca steps in front of her. “Do _not_ try to use my sister in any of your schemes, Heskal,” she warns.

He laughs, the sound angry and cold. “You speak as though there is any choice in the matter! The future is already pre-ordained! It was set from the moment she decided to wear green.”

Senya closes her eyes, a sound of comprehension hidden in her weary sigh. “My son’s favourite colour,” she says quietly. “Or at least it was when he was younger.”

Calli is clearly fuming, her face flushing in furious embarrassment. “I’m not doing _anything_ you tell me to do!” she says hotly, deliberately not looking at Senya or acknowledging what she’d said. “And you know what, you're fucking creepy, so we’re done here!”

She tugs on Lieca’s arm rather desperately, and the Jedi immediately turns to usher her out of the room. “We _are_ done here,” Lieca says firmly, her arm around Calli’s waist as she ignores the feel of ice-blue eyes at her back.

It’s a few minutes walk before Calli speaks again, clearly still unsettled. “Scions are fucking weird,” she declares, shuddering. The fact that she hasn’t immediately shaken off Lieca’s awkward hug once they’d left their headquarters was rather telling, but she doesn’t think that a filthy marketplace is the place to suddenly spring an urgent conversation on her sister.

Lieca privately agrees with her assessment of the Scions, but holds her tongue when Senya frowns. “They are different, yes, but they are as much a part of Zakuul and our culture as anything else,” she says, and then sighs. “I thought that they would help us. I apologise that I was wrong, and that I endangered you both.”

Lieca waves her off, cutting across the scowl on Calli’s face. “No harm done,” she says softly. Calli peels away from her, extracting herself from the hug, and maybe she’s just tired of walking that way but maybe she’s also putting distance between them. “Perhaps they will help us going forward.”

Calli scoffs. “Fat chance,” she mutters under her breath, leaning against a nearby crate. There’s something closed off about her body language, in the way she hugs herself, shoulders hunched. Defensive, and bitter, and Lieca’s heart aches for her. “So, what now?”

Lieca tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, I guess we wait until Risha and Koth’s crew have repaired the Gravestone. I’ll see if we can arrange alternative lodgings for a few days - I think the ship is going to feel very crowded and we should try to keep distractions to a minimum.”

Senya nods. “A good idea. I also think that you two should try to stay indoors where possible - the Scions may have recognised you from their visions, but it is just as likely that others may recognise your features from the wanted posters. Even far from Zakuul, we cannot guarantee that there isn’t a threat to your safety.”

Calli flinches, seemingly not a fan at all of this plan, and her temper flares hot. “I don’t want to be stuck in _another_ tiny room for who even fucking knows how long!” she scowls. “Besides, reward money or not, who’s going to be fucking dumb enough to tell the Knights about this safe haven?”

 

* * *

 

Heskal sighs as he watches the women leave, the weight of forewarning heavy enough in the air that he can almost taste it. The nearest Scion moves forward without prompting, dropping to a knee. “Your bidding?”

Heskal shrugs and dismisses them all. “Leave me. I must set things in motion.”

Half of the room tenses at his words and for a fraction of a second he sees what they do, the fate he will bring down upon them with his actions. He almost wishes he could spare them - but who is he to defy destiny?

As soon as he is alone, he pulls out his holocom.

“Arcann. I have information about the woman you’ve been searching for.”


	9. The Spire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Minor character death, force choke, torture via mind invasion, destructive thoughts

Arcann growls in annoyance as he reviews the day’s reports, his robotic fingers clicking a specific rhythm on the arm of his chair.

The last few weeks since the Outlander’s escape are all but a blur, full of nervous energy but nothing to spend it on. The woman who defied his father, the woman who father _still_ chose over their family and their life here, is out there somewhere and they can’t bloody find her. She’s probably out there laughing at Zakuul and snickering at his failures and it’s just so _frustrating_!

Nothing! Not a single piece of _useful_ fucking information on where the Jedi has gone or what she’s doing. Even that bloody ‘ _Alliance_ ’ has been silent for weeks, with no news of any renewed activity due to the return of their leader or increased raids on his empire or against his people or _anything_. They haven’t even bothered to declare her escape as their doing, which one would assume to be the first act of any terrorist cell with even a whit of sense.

Vaylin tore through the guards of the prison as if they were flimsi, and without any living eyewitness accounts, they don’t know enough about how Master Amell was able to escape so easily. He grudgingly admits that perhaps security _within_ the vault itself, rather than just the entrances and exits, isn’t as strong as other parts of The Spire, but to get in and out all but undetected? The only reason they were nearly caught in the first place was because Vaylin was bored at the party and wandered into the vaults, a habit she had kept up for years as a means to gloat over their father, and which he was reluctantly grateful for even if it did frustrate him. Without her petty habits, they might not even have known of the escape until a routine patrol spotted her empty carbonite chamber during the changing of the guards-

He scowls, cutting off his racing, obsessive thoughts, and turns his attention back to the data in front of him.

“A city for your thoughts, brother?”

He looks up at Vaylin with an angry frown, to where she is sitting across the table from him. Unlike him, she is half lounging in her chair, sprawled awkwardly on her side with her feet neatly crossed on the table as she levitates several goblets in the air.

He sniffs disdainfully, a gesture the mask never truly conveys adequately for his tastes. “Aren’t you supposed to be liaising with the seneschal about your rooms?”

She huffs, blowing a bit of hair out of her eyes and the goblets rise higher before clinking together. “That’s _boring_ ,” she says primly, making them crack together with more and more force. “They should just fix them up anyway.”

He raises his visible eyebrow. “Maybe if _someone_ didn’t destroy her belongings we wouldn’t be in this position to start with.”

She glares at him, the goblets falling carelessly to the ground with a loud crashing noise that he doesn’t flinch at only through force of habit. “Maybe if _someone_ actually found that stupid Outlander, I never would have destroyed my room the last time you decided to embarrass me!” she snaps, gold eyes flaring.

The old ache in his jaw is back from the strain of clenching his teeth, and he forces himself to feign calm as he shifts his datapad back onto the table before selecting the next one with excessive care, making a point of all but ignoring her temper. “I already told you Vaylin, we are trying to find her. Kindly desist from this tantrum.”

She actually hisses at him, her posture remarkably like a furious cat ready to attack as she moves her heels off the table. “Hrmph, as if! You’re just worried about that stupid _girl_ from the party. How many times have you left the palace looking for her now?” she says before leaning back in her chair, sitting on the edge and back all but lying along the bottom of it, suddenly smug. “The Knights are starting to talk, you know.”

Arcann can feel his skin prickling slightly in embarrassment, an unpleasant sensation at the best of times, and he angrily refuses to take his eyes off his datapad. He won’t give her the satisfaction. “If the Knights require me to personally oversee every single one of their actions in order to achieve their duties, then they are worse than useless to me,” he mutters. “If my presence was required to find the Outlander, I would not be wasting time expecting _them_ to find her.”

Vaylin doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and the silence grates on his nerves so thoroughly that he finally glances over at her. She looks so much like how he remembers their mother, but the calculating look in her eyes is entirely their father; it makes his skin crawl, but he doesn’t say anything, staring back at her as she leans back further in her chair, the front two legs off the ground as she rocks back at an angle.

Her glowing eyes are watching him thoughtfully, and it’s enough to make him defensive. “What?”

She sighs dramatically, breaking the moment and flopping back into her chair. “ _Ugh_ , whatever. How about you stop being so gooey-eyed over some _girl_ and just find someone else? There’s plenty of people who want to throw themselves all over their ‘ _beloved Emperor_ ’ after all-”

“I’ll thank you not to comment on my intimate relationships, sister dear.”

“ _Ew_. You’re just being ridiculous. It’s beneath you.”

He stares flatly and she rolls her eyes, making a loud, aggressively frustrated sigh. “Or continue pining like some lovesick idiot, I don’t care. You can’t send the Knights out to look for the Outlander _and_ some girl and not expect them to talk about you.”

Choosing dignified silence as his response apparently annoys her, as expected, and she jumps out of her chair in one fluid motion. “Ugh, fine. I’m going to my room. Let me know if something interesting happens, or if you come to your senses.”

He waves her off in annoyance, tapping another beat against the reports from the Gilded Star, which was due for its annual re-supply soon. Darvannis’ holdings aren't that much more entertaining to read either on the next datapad, and he eventually sits back in disgust.

It's not frustrating enough that they are unable to locate the Outlander. No, it’s equally frustrating that the Knights are unable to locate their only connection to the Outlander - Calli.

Of course, he hasn’t exactly told anyone why he knew Calli and the Outlander were connected. Part of it was embarrassment at being duped so easily, and the other was that technically he wasn’t entirely sure that Calli _had_ helped the Outlander? The dataspike was fairly obvious proof that she had been up to something, and the timing was rather suspicious, but since he had crushed it in his rage they couldn’t exactly check what it had been developed for, now, could they?

Only an idiot would blindly hope that it had been for something else, and he is not an idiot. He is not hoping that the first lover to treat him as a person and not their Emperor was not actually working for his enemy.

He just wants answers. _That’s_ why he’s trying to find her. The _only_ reason.

And what if someone made her do it? What if the Alliance manipulated her and tricked her and hurt her and forced her to betray him? What if she needed help, not condemnation?

Obviously she had planted the dataspike while he was removing his mask. If her only goal was to plant the spike, surely she would’ve feigned at a change of heart and said no to him once he’d returned from the bathroom? He would have respected that, he certainly didn’t want to force her. That would be monstrous.

He finds himself lost in the memory of her standing tall and defiant before him - well, as tall as someone so much shorter than him could manage, - before the memory sours at the moment when she shrank back at the sign of his temper. He doesn’t like the thought of her being afraid of him, for any reason, and he rubs at the edges of his mask for a moment in distaste.

The damn thing has felt far more constrictive, far more irritating to old scar tissue, ever since that night. Like his body revelled in the freedom too much, and now wants to convince him to discard it outright.

He ignored it.

Regardless of what her original intention with the dataspike was, she obviously wanted him too. Her reactions - Scyva save him, the _sounds_ she made - proved that _that_ at least was complete honesty on her part. Of course, that is entirely not the thing to focus on right now - as Emperor he should be far more concerned about the security breach. But the memory of her in his arms still makes him incredibly smug.

And gives him another reason to find her. Not the _main_ reason of course, but another one.

... except that finding her is much more difficult than anticipated.

He grunts in annoyance as he gives up any pretence of going over any of his economic reports and instead pulls up the files on Calli, reviewing the information collated about her for what feels like the millionth time. There have only been scattered sightings and reports of her in the weeks since the Outlander’s escape, few of them verified.

If she didn’t have something to hide, _why_ was she hiding?

Was the Alliance hiding her? Was it someone on Zakuul? And were they hiding her to protect her - or to keep her silent and stop her reaching out for help?

It’s important to clarify the situation, if only because an Alliance connection would speed up the process in retrieving the Outlander. That’s all. That was why he sent out alerts for her.

His people have made contact with her a few times over the past weeks, but she has evaded them almost immediately each time. One of his Knights had located her a few nights after the anniversary celebrations, apparently in a local cantina, of all places. The Knight had activated his personal alert to indicate that he had located a particular fugitive, the alpha-numerical code indicating that it was Calli.

The abysmal failure of that Knight to actually follow his instructions - and his own subsequent negative reaction - was probably what had led to the gossip Vaylin was referring to.

 

* * *

 

_Several weeks earlier..._

Arcann frowns, fingers tapping on the throne impatiently. His orders had been to inform Calli that her presence was required at the palace, and that she was to be brought to him safe and unharmed. She should have been thrilled at the prospect, as anyone rightly would at receiving a personal invitation from their emperor, so for her to not be here now meant that something had not gone as planned.

There was an _incident_. The medical notes at the bottom of the report detailing the state of the Knight who had located her is a fairly strong indicator that his instructions have not been followed adequately.

“Take off your helmet.”

Even without seeing his face, Arcann can feel him hesitate. “... your majesty?”

“You heard me perfectly well,” he says, tone clipped. “Take off your helmet.”

With immense reluctance, the Knight reaches up and unclips the seals from the neck brace, sliding his helmet up and off of his head; his hair is askew and sweaty, and his eyes are slightly wild, as if from panic. That is hardly the most important detail, however, and Arcann hones in on the one rather telling discrepancy in his features.

“Your nose is broken,” he says dismissively, taking in the fading bruises around his eyes and the swelling over the bridge.

The Knight hesitates again, his eyes closing for a moment as if in terror. “Yes, your majesty,” he says. “Or- was broken, I mean. I saw the medics last night-”

“Did I ask?”

The Knight stutters to a halt. “N-no, your majesty,” he says, bowing his head.

Arcann stands up and paces slowly in front of him, his jaw aching beneath the mask from gritted teeth. This is the second one of his Knights who have returned from encounters with Calli with broken noses - it would almost be amusing if it wasn’t so frustrating to see his supposedly indomitable warriors undone by a mere slip of a woman.

... although, on further consideration, it’s hardly surprising that a woman extraordinary enough to warrant his attentions would be inestimably extraordinary in a myriad of ways.

He breathes out slowly as he paces, trying to keep a close rein on his temper. “You issued an alert regarding an individual of extreme interest to ourselves,” he says, sticking to the royal plural just to unsettle the idiot more, “an individual who we instructed was to be treated with the utmost care, and was to be brought in alive at any cost.”

“I- your Majesty-”

“So, given that you somehow retained enough brainpower to recognise her importance to us, and to issue the alert in the first place,” he says slowly, ruthlessly satisfied with the way the fool cowers on his knees, “would you care to explain how you found yourself in a situation where she felt it was warranted to break your nose?”

The silence is so fraught that he can hear the man swallow nervously. “I- she seduced me!” he says, voice shaking. “I was trying to-”

He cuts off abruptly with a gasp - Arcann has raised a hand and has gently begun to pinch his fingers together; the Knight lifts a hand to his throat in a panic. “You are lying to me,” he growls softly.

“I-I’m not!” the Knight wheezes, his eyes going wide. “I- I tried to arrest her, properly, and she- she tried to sweet talk me, she offered me sex if I let her go, whored herself-”

“And if you were valiantly resisting her advances, as you seem to be implying,” Arcann says, angrily cutting him off and coming to a stop before him, “then how did she get close enough to break your nose?”

The man’s expression freezes, as if realising he has been caught in his blatant lie. “No- your majesty, I didn’t-”

Arcann’s hand snaps out, and the knight is suddenly dangling an inch or two off the ground. His hands are at his throat, gasping and wheezing.

“Did you hurt her?”

The only answer is a high pitched wheezing sob.

“Did you force yourself on her? Is that where your ideas of seduction come from? From your own ill bred acts of _savagery_?”

There are tears on the man’s face, his eyes bulging and his skin reddish purple.

Arcann still doesn’t know whether Calli actually works for his enemy or not. Was she spying for the Outlander? For someone else? Was it pure coincidence? Was she forced? He has no idea _and it’s frustrating the hell out of him_.

He just needs to _talk_ to her, to find out what was going on, so he could stop stewing in his own head and being hung up on a single woman, no matter how extraordinary she was to capture his attention in the first place. And regardless of her intentions and her eventual answers when he finally has a chance to speak with her, the thought of harm befalling her makes his stomach clench. The idea of her being hurt because of his own people, meant to carry out his exact orders and be responsible for her safety, is even more infuriating.

And the thought of her being manhandled, _especially_ by his own people, and pushed into a situation where her personal boundaries are violated, makes him want to scream.

He finally heaves a disgusted sigh and drops the Knight without another word. Unfortunately, despite his fury and his desperate need for an outlet, he still actually needs answers, and the Knight is obviously incapable of speaking with his throat all but closed off. Besides, he can always kill him in a few minutes.

The Knight collapses on his hands and knees, heaving in gulps of air as though fully aware they are likely to be his last.

Arcann sniffs disdainfully, focusing on clenching and unclenching his robotic hand to try to suppress his temper. A few long moments pass in silence, with nothing but the the Knight’s ragged breathing to break through the silence; finally he sighs. “I am _waiting_ ,” he notes ominously.

The Knight pauses in confusion, eyes still on the ground, and sucks in a sharp breath when he understands. “I-I did not force her, your majesty” the Knight says quickly, tone pleading and desperate. “I swear it in Scyva’s name!”

Arcann frowns. His father would never have suffered the insolence of having his authority undermined by allowing a god’s name to be spoken in his presence - especially not at the suggestion that said god was more worthy of supplications than himself. For this fool to call upon Scyva, as if a forgotten deity will protect him from his wrath... it’s not the most prudent response, but he grudgingly acknowledges that swearing by the Emperor isn’t exactly the smartest idea when he is the cause of the man’s current troubles. “And?”

The Knight does not move or look up, still speaking towards the ground. “I-I did not recognise her when I entered the room, to my failure. I was buying a present for my mother - the woman turned out to be the jeweler I was meeting. She was charming, and I did not place her until I had the time to check the alerts and recognise her face while she retrieved another drink,” he stammers, before pausing and taking another large breath before continuing just as quickly. “I did not force her, but her intentions towards me were-were quickly made clear. I should have revealed my task to arrest her before she pulled me into the hallway but I-I did not. I was not above temptation, and that was my failing.”

The man hesitates, and visibly cringes at the lack of a response. “I-I was eventually able to regain my wits despite her charms, and informed her that I would be retrieving her as a person of interest to the Emperor.”

Arcann is fairly certain he has stopped breathing, fists desperately clenching and unclenching at his sides as he fights the urge to lash out. “And what was her reaction?” he says quietly, his tone deadly. “ _Obviously_ , as you are here and she is not, it did not go precisely as you so _meticulously_ planned.”

The Knight flushes, radiating embarrassment like a sun reactor, and shivers almost violently. “She incapacitated me and escaped despite my eventual pursuit,” he says desperately, the sentence tilted almost like a question, as though hoping that would be enough of an explanation.

Arcann, still determinedly not considering the man’s lies about Calli pursuing him, frowns, voice all but dripping sarcasm. “So a mere slip of a woman incapacitated one of my Knights through an injury as insignificant as a broken nose, and also managed to escape? Are you not trained in ignoring pain, or do I perhaps need to remind you?”

The man flinches, prostrating himself further onto the ground. “Not-not exactly, Immortal Majesty.”

The reverent tones of his title does little to calm him down as it usually would as it simply highlights the massive social gulf between the night Calli spent with him and the night she apparently attempted to follow with one of his lowly Knights. “Then by all means, _enlighten_ _me_.”

The Knight’s embarrassment is almost smothering now. “She- she already had her hands on- on me when I revealed my task,” he says haltingly. “I told her I was retrieving her for your Immortal Majesty and she- she turned violent. She, uh, _pulled_ me and broke my nose when I fell. By the time I had recovered, she was long gone. I pursued for ten blocks before losing the trail!”

Arcann was suddenly glad the Knight still faced the ground, because it meant he couldn’t see his instinctive wince at the description. But it does make his decision easier.

He is _not_ jealous, he is worried about her wellbeing. She was supposed to be _safe_ with his people. The fact that the Knight says she pursued him rather than the other way around makes him feel ill, but it's obviously at the thought of it all being a lie to cover his despicable failures. Not jealousy.

But if it were somehow true... well, he understands the inability to resist that particular temptation. True, he enjoyed the chase and how she didn’t just immediately fall into his arms, challenging him and pushing back at him before finally capitulating in the most delicious manner imaginable. But now, knowing how she felt in his bed, in his arms - the thought of _her_ pursuing _him_ does make his breath catch in his chest. To have her turn that passion and temper over to the goal of claiming him... it would be the clearest sign that he was what she wanted above all else, and that her actions were not just those of a woman merely tolerating his presence because he was her Emperor.

His expression clouds over again as he refocuses on the Knight. Whatever had actually happened between them, the fact remains that the man had allowed a target to escape and had outright admitted to allowing mere _seduction_ as his foil. His Knights are trained _better_ than that. Such failure and blatant ignorance of his explicit orders will not be tolerated.

The insult to Calli just makes his decision easier.

He sighs and places his hands behind his back. “So, not only did you allow a priority target to escape, but you attempted to seduce someone of clear importance to us,” he starts ominously, tone dangerously soft.

The Knight is clearly shivering and he feels a ruthless amount of glee at the sight. “I say ‘ _attempted_ ’, because you couldn’t even prove worthy of her in that one moment, and ruthlessly tried to take advantage of her, rather than return her to the palace _as you had been ordered_.”

The Knight suddenly gasps in shock, as though something had slid into place in his mind, and finally looks up again, eyes wide in comprehension. “She was yours,” he whimpers, sounding stunned, before a look of sheer terror crosses his face.

Arcann raises an eyebrow, moving his hands back to his sides. “Ah, so _now_ you see the full stupidity of your actions,” he says menacingly. “Perhaps if you had followed our instructions, this could have been avoided. But no, we are apparently unable to trust our Knights to perform the simplest of tasks. Far better for them to be swayed by a pretty face than to respect their _oaths of fealty to their ruler_.”

“You-your majesty, _please_.”

He lifts his hand again to raise the Knight in the air by his throat. “Did you honestly think we would _forgive_ this?” he snarls, pinching his fingers together. His voice echoes through the throne room. “She is _mine_ and you ignored orders to return her to my side, choosing to indulge your own blind lust instead!”

The Knight gurgles helplessly, feet kicking out as he tries to regain his balance and relieve the pressure on his neck. “E- Emperor!” he chokes out.

Arcann narrows his eyes. ““I have no use for _useless_ sycophants,” he says coldly. “We are _done_ here.”

It takes barely a moment to channel his rage enough to snap the Knight’s neck, and he feels ruthlessly satisfied at seeing him crumple to the ground.

 

* * *

 

_Present day..._

Arcann rubs the edge of his mask again, tossing aside the datapads. Other than finding out Calli was connected to a jeweller - which they’d already investigated, given that one of her aliases at the party had been that of a jeweller and had hit dead ends _blast_ it all - the Knight’s encounter with her had led to absolutely no information and left him with nothing other than a bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach; even now, weeks later, it persisted.

Something had to have gone wrong - if the Knight had revealed his task to her as he’d claimed, she should not have panicked and attacked. She should have been relieved and pleased to see him again. Yes, he acknowledges that his mix-up with his staff had probably been quite hurtful to her, and she might possibly be upset, but how is he supposed to apologise when she won’t speak to him?

At least he had had the opportunity to strongly revise his orders to his Knights to prevent any other idiotic fiascos. It’s beneath him to have to micro-manage to this extent, but the fools forced his hand. They are supposed to be the greatest and most powerful warriors in the galaxy, second only to the Exarchs, and yet here they are, their incompetence and stupidity laid bare. Their failures are a reflection upon their commitment to the throne, and he makes damn well sure they know it. No-one else has questioned him after he threw the first one to voice a protest over the edge of The Spire in a fit of annoyance.

He’s also actually fairly begrudgingly impressed at how successfully Calli has hidden from him and his forces on his own home planet. He _knows_ she hasn’t left Zakuul, as there have been numerous scattered sightings now since the Outlander’s escape. The Alliance - whether protecting her or kidnapping her - had to have more power than he was aware of.

The possibility that she is hiding entirely of her own free will simply does not occur to him. Or rather, he has no desire to entertain such a thought.

With so little information on the Outlander available, it was actually easier to search for Calli and devote resources as such. At least she had been seen since her… _departure_ from the palace.

They’d attempted a more public appeal for information, and part of him had hoped that she would respond herself, eliminating the need for outside interference. Of course they’d also been foolish enough to offer a reward, and as soon as a reward was offered for information, suddenly everyone in the world knows her and wants to talk about her. That line of idiocy was quickly shut down after it became known that the first idiot to try to bluff through that had spoken directly to the Emperor - and not survived the encounter.

The first legitimate contact to have information about Calli was about a week after the ill-fated Knight’s encounter - and this one was ultimately even more unhelpful, despite her presence being verified and almost detained this time.

The memory makes his fist clench enough to snap the datapad he’s examining in half.

 

* * *

 

_Several weeks earlier..._

Arcann and his team of Knights arrived at the Heralds’ stronghold less than an hour after receiving the call. His rapidly beating heart stops cold to see the dead guards posted at the door, and dread fills his gut so quickly he has to swallow hard before speaking.

“Find her!” he snarls at the Knights. “And do _not_ touch her!”

Unwilling to simply wait while Calli might be in danger, he follows the Knights inside, ignoring their nervous energy. There are more dead inside, many of whom appear to have died in fairly violent ways.

The panic in his gut grows - Calli has proved herself against two of his warriors, but this? This is excessively brutal, more like an animal attack; is this the work of a rescue team, or was she attempting to escape the Alliance only to be violently retrieved by them? The latter would certainly explain why she has not reached out to him, if she was being forcibly denied the opportunity to do so.

“Take scans of the bodies,” he says, “collect any sort of saliva or teeth marks. We need to know what manner of beast was here.”

Whatever creatures were responsible for the attacking are long gone, and it does not take long to realise that Calli is not here either - the only living person in this place is the boy passed out in the back room, seemingly untouched by the slaughter. Annoyance at her escape and relief at her survival war in his mind as he looks over the room, realising the boy is Brennan, the son of the Heralds’ leader and likely the one who ordered the call.

He is far less impressed by the smell of sex in the air, combined with the scent his mask classifies as the same perfume Calli wore. The gore in the hallway is absent here, no sign of violence, which should be a relief in itself, but...

Anger and bitter jealousy rise in his throat at the obvious conclusion, that the lack of obvious violence makes it more likely she left willingly, and it makes his voice rougher than he would like when he turns to the Knight at his side. “Rouse him,” he snarls.

They hurry to adhere to his command, seemingly unsure for a moment before throwing a cup of water on the boy’s face from the adjoining bathroom.

Brennan splutters awake almost instantly, sitting up and coughing hard before he seems to realise that he is not alone; he squints at them, blinking slowly in the manner of the heavily intoxicated. It’s very obvious the moment he recognises his Emperor and he chokes, going dead white so fast Arcann was mildly impressed he didn’t immediately pass out again.”E-Emperor.”

Arcann hums in displeasure, folding his arms. “Indeed. Where is the woman?”

The boy blinks wildly for a moment, eyes huge in his face, before his brain kicks into gear and he pulls back the covers on the bed beside him - making Arcann’s teeth clench so hard that a spike of pain shoots up the side of his face at the confirmation of his suspicions.

If he wasn’t so angry, the comical look of dismay on the boy’s face as he stares at the empty bed might have been amusing. “She was right here, I swear!”

Arcann takes a few moments to compose himself, apparently making his displeasure known by the way the boy starts to shake. “So, either you lied, or you are too stupid to take precautions with a person of interest to your Emperor and dragged her into your bed instead. Which is it?”

The boy seems near paralysed with fear and does not respond.

Arcann sighs heavily and steps closer, causing the boy to squeak in terror and pass out again.

He barely represses the urge to roll his eyes - if only because the mask is not so forgiving lately of such eye movements - and steps to the side of the bed.

The technique of using the Force to enter someone’s mind is rare, and requires years of gentle practice and subtle techniques to avoid causing damage. Arcann has neither the time nor patience for that.

The Jedi tend to use such skills as an augment to their healers - if you can see how an injury occurred, especially if a person cannot tell you themselves, you are more capable of healing wounds with greater efficiency and less effort. And of course the Sith tend to ignore this interpretation - those exceedingly rare individuals who manifest the skill and survive long enough to master it tend to focus more deliberately on causing damage rather than avoiding or correcting it.

Healing is the least of Arcann’s concerns right now. He needs information, and fast, and does not particularly care how this ends up. The Heralds of Zildrog have clearly outgrown their usefulness.

Perhaps it is slightly naive of him, but it also stings that Calli would rather... _spend time_ here with the Heralds than return to the palace. He honestly thought that he had pleased her, that they had shared a connection, and his pride does not like the idea that it might be otherwise. Why should she seek out other partners if he had been enough for her?

Of course, she is welcome to be with whoever she wants; as much as his childish jealousy rages at every indication that she has sought her pleasure elsewhere, he knows she is perfectly entitled to have as many partners as she pleases. But that’s hardly the point right now, and he doesn’t want to think about it too much.

It had been somewhat of a shock to realise that he had meant what he’d said to her, when he wanted to be good enough for her that she wouldn’t want anyone else. Words he’d perhaps said to others in the past to make them swoon into his arms with little effort, but Calli was the first one to whom he found that he actually meant it. Needing, _wanting_ , to prove it to her and not just himself for a change. To prove to the first woman who looked past the mask and saw a person that he was worthy enough to her to be _enough_.

Not a failure, not someone to be _endured_ for the sake of his station. Someone who was wanted for who he was, not who he _should_ be.

He shakes his head to clear it of such maudlin nonsense, and gestures angrily for the Knights to stand back, before reaching out a hand and focusing his rage enough to _push_ into the boy’s mind.

He winces at the same time Brennan does, the far weaker mind still making a token effort of resistance before Arcann forces his way in, and causing the stupid child to wake up from his dead faint with a pained scream.

It doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for, pinching his fingers together as he focuses for the right path. He’s fairly certain anyone who has actually been trained in this skill would be horrified at the way he blunders through it but whatever, it’s one of many things Father never bothered to teach him and he just had to figure it out as he went along.

It’s not something one tends to practice very much either - it’s an uncomfortably intimate process that doesn’t merit a lot of volunteers. Especially with his methods, as people often don’t survive such an assault on their minds. Maybe if he’d actually had a teacher, but then the only people in their society who specialised in such things would probably be found amongst the Scions, and he just... no.

It takes several long moments, a few frustrated pushes, and multiple furious demands through the boy’s pained babbling, but eventually he finds the memory he’s looking for.

He was not quite expecting the way his breath catches at the flash of Calli laughing, giggling into her glass with her eyes shining. The colour of her hair stands out so brightly in the memory, the red flashing like copper in the low light, and everything else seems grey and muted in comparison. The memory fragments under pressure as the boy’s mind panics and pushes back in pain, but he forces through regardless. He needs to learn where she is so they can find the Outlander. He doesn’t have time for games.

But there is no mention of Master Amell’s name and only the most scattered fragments of conversation - all of them useless. Admittedly, the echoed fragments of Calli’s voice, as if hearing them underwater, affect him far more than he would like them to; hearing her laughter is distracting enough to nearly throw off his concentration entirely. Had she laughed in his presence? Gods help him, he wants her to. Meanwhile the vision keeps flickering in and out, like a strobe light, as the boy’s natural mental defences - however weak - try to save him and try to push him out.

It takes long enough to focus the memory again that it takes a moment for him to realise what he’s watching this time. He notices Calli’s eyes first, deep and dark and blue, and again it distracts him, leaving him breathless with need as he takes in the swollen lips and tousled hair, the sheen of sweat over her bare skin; when his brain finally catches up and he realises he’s observing memory and not just fantasy, her eyes fluttering as he - as the _boy_ moves on top of her, and the horror at the intrusion is enough to break his concentration.

Izax forfend, it’s such an intensely private moment and yet even as he recoils in frustrated embarrassment, the thought floats through his mind unbidden- _I wish I’d seen her eyes like that_.

But he hadn’t. He’d bound her vision to assuage his own insecurities, and right now that can’t be his focus; he still needs information, and the bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach makes it easier to concentrate as he pushes back again, the boy’s mind barely fighting him at all now.

He connects again and flicks through the memory, trying to contain the flash of white-hot rage at the scene as the boy suddenly clearly finishes and Calli’s expression quickly closes off in surprised frustration and awkward humiliation at the clear signs that the boy has no intentions of continuing at all for her sake.

So, not only an incompetent asshole, but a completely inconsiderate lover as well, and he growls in anger in time with Calli’s quiet sigh of acceptance. The lurch in his heart is obviously in annoyance at having to witness the boy’s memories to get answers, not at the bitterness and embarrassment in her eyes. Why would anyone charm their way into her bed and then not give her the adoration she deserves? He feels rather personally offended at the boy’s lacklustre performance, purely on principle, and not because it’s Calli. Well, not just because it’s Calli. His head hurts.

The vision wavers further as the boy speaks against her neck, and he can’t see her expression given the angle, but he can physically feel the way she stiffens beneath him at his slurred mention of the reward. When the boy tries to clumsily thrust his tongue back into her mouth, anger and defeat war on her face as she pushes him away, but it’s the flicker of fear that makes his heart ache. She was the first person in years to not be afraid of him; why would she fear him now? He’s just trying to find her, to talk to her and explain what happened and hear her side of the story about her dataspike.

Or does the fear mean that she _did_ voluntarily betray him, and he’s just working himself up over nothing because she never really cared in the first place.

The flare of stress and pain through his shoulder and neck is strong enough this time to make him scowl and bite back a curse, recoiling out of the boy’s by now all but fractured mind and hissing in pain. Okay, perhaps he should have waited like a normal person and reviewed security footage of the area rather than push his way into Brennan’s mind like a barbarian, or waited for the brat to sober up and question him properly, but he needed to know _now_ , and after the previous Knight’s lies he had no interest in listening to someone babble useless half-truths at him again.

He shakes his head in disgust to clear it, the boy comatose on the bed and the sheets stained with piss. He can feel himself shaking with exhaustion, his head throbbing, and his Knights are determinedly not looking at him but are instead keeping their backs turned as if to keep up some pretense of privacy; the air is rank with fear and stress, the taste of it sour when he breathes in. He snarls, his anger walking along a razor edge. “Dispose of this trash. The Heralds are of no further use to me. Kill them all.”

He turns on his heel to leave the room, ignoring the way the Knights hesitate momentarily until he is out in the hallway.

He tries to forget the blue of Calli’s eyes, and the fear in her.

His head still hurts.

 

* * *

 

_Present day..._

Arcann frowns at the memory of the Heralds’ stronghold, resting his chin on his hands with his elbows propped up on the table before him as he muses.

There had been next to no mention of Calli in the time since his brutal beheading of the stupid cult. Brennan’s father had called the palace to cry foul and was swiftly dealt with. The Heralds had all but disappeared after the massacre, and the Knights now patrolled the Old World again. The barracks whispered discontent and distaste at the idea, but was quickly silenced.

He had briefly entertained entering into negotiations with the most recent underworld figure to stake a strong claim in the Old World, a shadowy figure known only as the ‘Lady of Sorrows’, but he is tired of letting these parasitic criminals chip away at his domain with little benefit to him. He maintains his own patrols for the time being, because he has learned the hard way not to let himself grow too reliant on the strength of another.

He is begrudgingly coming to admit that perhaps his single-minded pursuit of one woman was not entirely helpful - especially when all evidence since the celebration seems to indicate that she has no interest in continuing their acquaintance. Avoiding his patrols, fleeing from his people - what else is he supposed to do?

He just wanted to apologise for the way his staff had treated her - did she not see that apologies were something he had only ever done through gritted teeth? He removed his mask for her, to kiss her and please her with his tongue. Did she not understand how _important_ that was?

Had he not pleased her, that she would seek out other lovers and so soon after him? He had smugly thought her desire for him and cries of pleasure were genuine, and does not like the insinuation that they were not. Beneath the blindfold, had her eyes taken on that same dull sheen of disappointment and frustration that they had with Brennan? Had she played him so effectively purely to shorten their acquaintance and her annoyance?

He scowls, knocking another datapad off the table in his anger as he stands and begins to pace. Does she truly work for the Outlander? Was he just twisting himself around in circles and wasting his time trying to justify his interest in a woman who seems to be laughing at him more with each passing day?

He comes to a stop before the glass wall revealing the daunting beauty of space outside, the pure darkness split by various points of light from the stars and nearby worlds. He focuses on the golden points that represent the endless numbers of the Fleet, breathing in deeply to try to calm down.

At least there had been mild progress regarding the Outlander, though ultimately disappointing. A few days ago a patrol in the swamps had intercepted her party, who had barely managed to flee to hyperspace before the Fleet could annihilate the ship. They had damaged it, that much was fact, so she could not have gone far; but she was still _gone_ , making him the greater fool yet again.

His fists clench again at the thought of her escape, the pressure behind his eyes increasing as he tries to stay calm. She should not have had a ship in the first place, especially in the middle of the swamps. It speaks of too much planning, despite Vaylin’s interference in her escape from the city.

The hushed reverent tones of his people whispering about whether the ship was the mythical Gravestone of legend were ruthlessly silenced. The Gravestone is a children’s story, a _myth_. Father would not have left something behind that threatened his rule like that ship. If it was real, Father would have destroyed it.

It’s a bitter thought indeed that Father’s ruthless control over every aspect of their world and their lives is actually a mild comfort to him now.

But regardless of what ship it was, the fact remains that the Outlander has definitely escaped now and they have absolutely no leads as to her whereabouts.

He had studied her history extensively after her imprisonment; he knew her acquaintances and her loved ones. Her sister the Jedi, her cousin the soldier, her mentor the Grandmaster - every friend and every enemy and every lover she had taken was meticulously documented, the better to understand this stranger his Father had chosen in his place. But there has been no word from her allies in the last few days that indicates where she might have gone, no grand proclamations of defiance or victory, no attempts to claim the acts of terrorism against Zakuul as their own.

He huffs in annoyance, reaching out to run his fingers over the faint condensation on the glass. Vaylin must have been fiddling with the temperatures again to annoy him, it’s usually more regulated than this.

All three of them used to draw patterns on the glass around their rooms when they were children, he and Thexan breathing heavily on the glass to provide more obvious drawing boards.

It’s been some time since he had a letter from the false Thexan, the interloper invented by the Republic to torment him. He _knew_ Thexan was gone, he’d felt him die. He’d _killed_ him. This _pretender_ who wears his face and sends him updates on his life as though they were still brothers - he must be a lie. If it was his brother - why wouldn’t he just come home?

He’s been telling himself this for years. But he still can’t delete the letters. Vaylin gets them too- at least the pretender is thorough in his deceptions.

It doesn’t matter, any of it. Thexan is dead and gone, Calli is gone, the Outlander is gone. Instead he has a pretender, a possible traitor, and a threat. The only one he actually wants gone is Father, and of course he is the one who’s always hovering around, casting shadows over everything and everyone.

He wonders if Valkorion does still live, in the Outlander’s mind, or if it’s just another thing that’s all in his head.

He irrationally pushes against the glass for a moment, that all too familiar desire to shatter the window and let the stars take him, before he groans and rubs at his temple, a sharp spike of pain shooting up from his shoulder again. He hasn’t been sleeping well these past weeks - the feeling of sleepy contentment upon waking the morning after his night with Calli is a strange memory, as though it happened to someone else. Sleeping poorly is what he’s used to, after all. The combination of the pain and his own angry, anxious thoughts tends to keep him awake, or at least tossing and turning throughout the night.

He should really just give up on looking for Calli. She clearly doesn’t want to be found, as much as it makes something in his chest ache hollowly to consider it. The Outlander is the true threat, the one to be focused on. She is the one he won’t be mocked for searching for, like a child desperate for a lost toy.

He realises he is fiddling with Thexan’s ring in his pocket again, and represses the urge to throw it across the room. He is the _Emperor_ ; he does not need such silly trinkets as, as _mementos_ or anything.

He winces, rubbing wearily at his exposed temple in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain in his head just as the door opens. Only one person would dare enter his room unannounced, which just means that Vaylin is back to torment him anew. He can only hope that her mood has improved.

“Oh _brottttther_ ,” she calls in a sing-song tone, sounding rather gleeful. “I have a _present_ for you!”

He sighs heavily, pressing his hand to his forehead. “What is it Vaylin?” he snaps harshly, not in the mood for her games.

He hears the clatter of her throwing something onto his table before she appears on the edge of his peripheral vision; he turns his head just enough to watch as she rearranges herself into her chair in a very extravagant manner, practically radiating smugness at him through the Force. “Don’t you want to see what I very nicely brought for you?” she says gleefully.

He turns to see her half-curled in her chair with her legs draped over the armrest, gesturing at the device she brought with her. “ _Someone’s_ got a message from a _secret admirer_ ,” she coos, grinning wickedly at his cross look.

He does not acknowledge the way his heart skips and keeps his hands behind his back as he faces her. “Who is it, Vaylin?” he says, doing his best to sound bored.

She rolls her eyes, shifting enough to reach out and activate the message. “Just wait, brother dear.”

He sighs, waiting for the message to start, and feels his giddy, desperate hope crash back down painfully into reality as he recognises the former leader of the Scions on the flickering holoimage. Heskal is another person he’s been half-looking for in the years since his attempted destruction of the Scions. Not with any real conviction - as far as he’s concerned, the Scions being elsewhere is just as good as them being dead. But to have the man contact him now seems absurdly foolish.

And he’s not desperately disappointed that it wasn’t Calli contacting him. Not at all.

Vaylin, seeing that he’s recognised the sender, gleefully starts the message.

The Scion’s eerily pale eyes seem to pierce through him, as he nods in greeting to start the message, the gesture barely polite and certainly not befitting Arcann’s rank. The Scions never did respect him. “ _Arcann. I have information about the woman you’ve been searching for.”_

Arcann freezes and Vaylin cackles delightedly, clearly having anticipated his reaction; on the holorecording, Heskal has paused as though for dramatic effect. “ _This meeting has already been foretold. Come to our stronghold, on the port called Asylum. I will summon her upon your arrival. Your destiny awaits, Emperor.”_

Vaylin continues to chuckle nastily, stretching in her chair. “A _foretold_ meeting! Absolutely _fascinating_ , don’t you agree?” she asks, all but kicking her heels in the air in glee. “To think _you_ said the Scions were useless - and now they’ve found our Outlander!”

Arcann stares, and her grin widens. “Or do you think they’ve found some other mystery woman?” she asks slyly, before pouting. “Come now brother dear, the Scions won’t have bothered with some daft girl you met at a party. The Outlander is important to them and their glorious _hopes for the future_ after all - of course they know who she is.”

Her smile turns smug again, her eyes all but glowing with gleeful malice. “Or perhaps he means Mother! We know she’s defected to the Alliance after all. This will be so much fun!”

Arcann blinks at her. “What?”

She sighs, rolling dramatically off of her chair to stand up again. “Well, if Mother’s there of course I won’t let you go alone,” she says, her smile twisting. “We should go say hello!”

He frowns, somewhat perplexed with the speed at which this is progressing. “You want to follow this obvious trap?”

Vaylin rolls her eyes. “Arcann, the Scions have specifically summoned you just for this, when they have spent the better part of five years trying to bury themselves under rocks to get away from you. We’ve been looking for the Jedi for weeks with no leads. If we don’t go now, we’ll lose her - is that what you want to tell the people, that you let her slip away because you’re _sulking_?”

He glares at her but she doesn’t back down. And he knows she’s right. The Outlander cannot be allowed to roam free.

He gestures angrily, turning to leave the room. “Summon the Fleet. The Outlander will not escape us this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Just a note that chapter updates will start slowing down soon - I had most of the current chapters mostly done before I started posting, but I've caught up now and my workplace has called for mandatory overtime for the next few weeks :( I'm still writing! But it might not every week on the dot from now on. We'll see how we go!


	10. Attack on Asylum

From her position on the couch, Lieca sighs with amusement at the antics of her loved ones, listening to Risha and Calli arguing with Koth over some kind of technical schematic for the ship, something to do with heat dispersal. She feels utterly useless, and the fact that most of the conversation goes completely over her head doesn’t help with her feelings of inadequacy. Although the enforced rest- and what passes for real food in a mining port- since their arrival here on Asylum has been wonderful for her recovery and she basically feels good as new now, her friends still keep treating her like an invalid and have asked her to continue to rest as much as possible.

As if she’s still made of carbonite, and will shatter if she falls over.

Geralt, sitting on the other end of the couch with her legs draped across his lap, keeps offering wildly inaccurate commentary for the repairs, to the effect of ‘ _have you tried turning it on and off again_ ’ and ‘ _see, Lieca, the problem with the heat dispersal is that the little rancor running in a big wheel to make the engine go is running too fast_ ’, causing Risha and Calli to shoot him twin glares while Lieca laughs into her teacup.

Calli finally grabs Koth by the sleeve and starts dragging him towards the cockpit, spitting out some sort of technobabble that goes way over Lieca’s head, and she feels a swell of pride at her sister’s confidence.

She seems far happier and more animated than she was upon her arrival; less pale and tired-looking, not jumping at shadows and snarling every time someone interrupts her. Although she knows Calli is not at all fond of the size of their rented apartment near the docks, the forced recovery time seems to have been good for her too, along with Geralt’s constant presence and good-natured teasing of his adopted little sister. And here on the ship, with her technical knowledge thanks to multiple years of working exclusively with Zakuulan hardware and software, she is in her element.

The first time she heard Calli fighting with Koth over power cell transfer efficiency rather than just spitting fury looking for a fight, she knew it was all going to be okay. Her sister is still the same as she ever was, but her time being useful around the ship is making her less _angry_. She’s older than she remembers, of course, and there’s something closed off about her that might have been maturity and might have been nerves, but she’s doing so much better.

Which of course means that it’s inevitable that Lieca feels the need to determine whether or not it’s a front to cover fresh scars- she can’t bear the thought of being responsible for something that might have affected her sister’s safety and well-being. It took her less than a day of their being forced into a shared apartment together and Calli awkwardly flitting about the room and hiding behind her datapads before Lieca gently brought up the subject on both their minds.

Arcann.

 

* * *

 

_A few days earlier…_

“Calli, I know.”

Her sister looks up at her from the couch with a raised eyebrow and a pinched expression from being hunched over her datapad. “Know what?” she asks suspiciously.

Lieca sighs and sits down in the nearby armchair, looking at the caf table. She’d meant to say it with more tact than that, but the silence had stretched out for so long between them and the truth had pressed down on her so heavily that she couldn’t help but blurt it out. “I know about you and Arcann, Calli.”

She’s careful not to look up at her sister for a few moments, giving her a moment to process the statement without being stared at; when she finally takes a deep breath and looks up, Calli’s face is furiously red. “What?” Calli says, her voice suspiciously high-pitched. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Lieca sighs again, shifting her arms around herself. “When… when I was in the carbonite,” she starts quietly, feeling her sister go still, “I… had a lot of visions. Valkorion, he… he wanted to convince me of his point of view, to make me more pliant, and used a variety of ways to do so.” She shudders at the memory, still feeling relief at telling _someone_ ; Cera obviously knew, and she’d spoken about it briefly with Lana during the rescue. But it’s hard to convey the true violation she felt over those years, with Valkorion ruthlessly shifting through her thoughts and memories, to having not a second of privacy while every aspect of her personality lay exposed before him to try and break and consume.

It’s different to explain to someone who doesn’t use the Force - although she’s fairly certain Cera would’ve said something about it to the rest of the family after she was captured - and also a relief to _feel_ the way Calli’s righteous furious rage flares nearby, feeling it settle protectively over her like the Force shields she’s so fond of herself. It’s not that she doubted that Calli wouldn’t understand the depths of her pain, it’s more that... well. It’s nice to have her outrage validated.

_There is no emotion_ feels remarkably hypocritical when she’s left to her own doubts.

She’s quiet for a moment, trying to stop herself from shaking, and almost flinches as she feels Calli’s hands over hers. She looks up to see her sister kneeling in front of her, cheeks still flushed but looking worried. “Hey, hey Liss, it’s okay,” she says quickly, if awkwardly.

Lieca smiles slightly at her sister, which seems to reassure her a bit, but she doesn’t move away. “I- I know it will be,” she says shakily. “But I’m trying to make a point here.”

Calli tilts her head to the side. “Yeah, and the point is that we need to carve His Royal Doucheface out of your head and beat him to death with planks full of rusty nails, I know. I’m one hundred percent on board with that.” Lieca blinks at her for a moment before laughing, and Calli looks vaguely sheepish but pleased to have gotten that reaction before she speaks again. “Or would you rather something more evil, like, beaten to death with cute animal plushies? Feels more ironic somehow. There’s a claw machine in the cantina on Odessen and everything, we’ve got a ready supply on hand.”

Lieca giggles again, hiccuping. “Never change, Calli,” she says, smiling at the way her sister turns suddenly shy, looking away but still gripping her hands.

With an awkward cough, Calli seems to settle back onto her calves, while Lieca moves their hands to her lap, twining their fingers together. “I don’t plan on it?” Calli says uncertainly.

She smiles. “Good,” she says softly, her smile turning sad at the way Calli ducks away from her gaze again, her avoidance obvious. “But I did have a different point in mind - as much as the rusty nails idea appeals to me.”

Calli grins with a flash of teeth. “It is a good idea,” she says proudly.

Lieca nods, still holding her hands. “It is,” she said softly. “Some of the visions - they were awful, nonsensical, but not all of them were warped nightmares to torment me. Some of them were real. I saw Flissa a lot, and Cera and Theron. Also a lot of you. And the throne room on Zakuul, strangely - I think he must be stronger there?”

She can _feel_ Calli want to retreat, her mental walls climbing higher and higher, and she wonders if it was telling her that she’d had visions of her, or the mention of the throne room that her sister wants to run from. Both of them break her heart, but for different reasons - she’d hate for her baby sister to feel uncomfortable with her to the point of wanting to run, but she’d hate even more to know that Calli had gotten herself hurt to save her.

Her smile turns sad. “Just before I woke up, he was trying to twist me again. He showed me awful, terrifying things - a burned and destroyed Coruscant, as usual. I’ll need to travel there soon if it’s safe, just so I can stop seeing it whenever I close my eyes.” She’s only half-teasing, and feeling Calli’s horror rise with hers, she has to acknowledge the joke fell fairly flat. “And when trying to turn me against Satele - for the hundredth time - didn’t work, he apparently decided to try a... a _different_ tactic.”

She shudders at the feel of Valkorion’s amusement in her head, and apparently grips Calli’s fingers too tight by the way her sister makes a sudden noise. She angrily pushes him back out again, and briefly presses the Force to Calli’s hands, trying to soothe the hurt. “Sorry. Should’ve known talking about him would interest him.”

Calli frowns, dark blue eyes angry with an undercurrent of fear. “Tell him to fuck off,” she snaps. “We’re busy.”

She closes her eyes for a moment to concentrate on restoring her shields. “I’m trying,” she says hollowly, before taking a deep breath. Sorry, she says privately to Cera, drawing on yet more of her twin’s strength. “The last thing he showed me before Lana woke me up - well, it was you.”

Calli blinks. “Me?”

Lieca nods, suddenly feeling ridiculously awkward. “Yes. And, um, you weren’t alone? And, um, rather... distracted? In the palace?”

Calli blinks again before her eyes go almost comically huge in her face, and she goes bright red. “ _What_?!” she splutters, utterly horrified.

Lieca winces. “Only for a moment! And, um, I just thought you should know. That that’s how I know. Um, yes.” Calli is still staring at her in horror and she almost wants to laugh except for her own immense embarrassment. “If it helps, I immediately yelled at him for showing something so private and called him a lot of unpleasant things for watching his own son like that?”

Calli seems too stunned to say anything; she pulls her hands out of Lieca’s and stands up quickly, turning away from her with shoulders so tight with pressure that it’s painful to look at her.

Lieca closes her eyes, counting to three before speaking. “Are you okay?”

Calli doesn’t turn around, hands on her hips as if it’s excruciatingly important that she survey the far wall with every inch of her attention. “Absolutely peachy,” she says, her voice far too high-pitched for Lieca to believe her. Well, there was no way it wasn’t going to be horrendously embarrassing for both of them. “Just _super_.”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs, deciding to let it slide for the moment. She moves onto the next topic. “And I know it’s not any of my business, but this... _thing_ , whatever it is, with Arcann-”

The sound Calli lets out could probably break windows if weaponised correctly - some kind of hysterical squeak as she reels back around at speed. Her face is still red, and the look in her eyes can only be described as _panic stations_. “Woah woah _woah_ , hold up there just a minute!” Calli says suddenly, frantically waving her hands. “The next words out of your mouth better not be ‘ _but I support you_ ’ because holy fuck, there’s _nothing_ to support!”

Lieca hesitates. Maybe they hadn’t been in a relationship after all? Or Calli had cut and run after the rescue had begun - which is another issue entirely, and stars above she feels a surge of guilt considering the fact that Calli might have chosen her above her potential relationship. She pauses, trying to fold her hands demurely in her lap to stop them from fidgeting, and waits for Calli to stop pacing and look at her again. “My apologies,” she says politely, still feeling too stiff and awkward. “But that wasn’t it.”

Calli is still bright red, her entire posture defensive and her hands tucked under her arms. “Oh, okay then, sure,” she says stiltedly. “Please, continue. Before I _die_ of mortification.”

If she wasn’t feeling so awkward herself, she’d probably giggle at how melodramatic that was. Instead, she looks down at her lap, fiddling with her gloves. “I just… I wanted to make sure that you were okay. I never wanted you to be forced to make so many sacrifices for my sake.”

Calli narrows her eyes at her in confusion. “Sacrifices?”

She winces. “Geralt says you weren’t particularly fond of being on Zakuul,” she says quietly. The words seem to bubble up out of her, now that Calli isn’t interrupting. “Years of your life were dedicated to finding me, giving up your freedom to live in a world that would have killed you in a heartbeat if they’d known who you were, and I’m so sorry for that. And- and I never wanted you to have to sacrifice even more at the final stages to free me. Your personal boundaries should never be up for debate. Oh, um, not that I’m assuming that the relationship was not… _consensual_. But if it wasn’t - I’m so sorry Calli, I know you can’t forgive me for that, but I’m so, so sorry.”

Calli stares, her face somehow going ever more red. “Consen… oh my fucking _god_ , Lieca,” she says, covering her face with her hands. She stands like that for a moment, visibly shaking, and when she speaks again, her voice is high-pitched yet again as the explanation spills out of her at speed from between her fingers. “Okay, so, it was consensual, but it was also a terrible decision and a once-off and no, it’s never happening again. Period. And _fucking_ _stars_ it was not a relationship. At all. _Not even close_.”

Lieca nervously tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh. Good. I just wanted to check if you were-”

_“I’m fine!”_

“-Okay then.”

Awkward silence reigns for a long moment before Calli makes a random noise like she’s trying to sound casual and failing badly. “Well, I need to get to the Gravestone,” she says awkwardly, clearly lying since neither of their communicators had beeped. “Will… will you be okay here?”

Lieca smiles, relieved but miserable. “Of course! You go, I’ll be fine.”

Calli nods and flees the room faster than Geralt when he’s stolen Risha’s fancy chocolates.

 

* * *

 

Lieca sighs, brought back to the present by Risha’s loud curse echoing through the ship. Geralt flinches next to her and apologetically pushes her legs off his lap so he can stand up. “Better go see what that was,” he says quickly, mock-saluting before heading on his way.

She smiles in amusement, curling her knees closer to her chest to brace her datapad against her legs. Galactic news is all well and good, but sometimes she just wants to catch up on her former favourite shows and books.

Cera had anticipated her need for brainless fluff to ease her back into things, and had sent through numerous stories - including a hilarious unauthorised biography of Ona’la and Thexan’s love story, attaching her own sly notes on how exactly it diverged from what had actually happened. It reads more like some sort of sordid romance, complete with tearing of robes, and she is completely in agreement with Cera’s extensive commentary in the margins of the screen; she can barely recognise the woman in the story as the young Jedi crechemaster - or, she supposes, depending on how one measures her time in carbonite, Ona’la would probably be considered older than her now. She’s only a few chapters in, and she can barely contain her laughter - apparently the author has elaborated on Thexan’s change of heart in turning away from Zakuul, claiming that it had happened scarcely a day after his capture as a result of Ona’la seducing him.

_Ona’la. Seducing_ someone. It felt almost as though someone had written a genre romance story but was capitulating on the interest in Ona’la and Thexan and had simply changed the character names to sell more copies.

It was almost as wildly inaccurate as the stories that came out about Lieca and Cera after Corellia. Cera still got a kick out of the ones about her, especially the one that said she’d all but fallen onto her ship’s medical officer when he joined her team, clearly the work of someone pining for the ‘ _forbidden Jedi romance_ ’ angle or something. She still enjoyed teasing Doc about that one and asking him if he was the real writer.

The lights in the room suddenly flicker ominously and Tora comes stalking into the room, clearly heading for the cockpit with the others. “You almost fried the power core, fat fingers!” she hollers, apparently not even noticing Lieca sitting there on the couch.

The room’s intercom activates before the engineer leaves. “ _That’s CAPTAIN Fat Fingers_ ,” Koth replies in amusement. _“Stop complaining and get some work done.”_

SCORPIO’s voice crackles over his. _“You all do this vessel a disservice with your primitive hands. Give me full access and I will enhance-”_

Holiday speaks up first, cutting across the droid. _“-Oh gosh I’m so sorry but I seem to have temporarily disabled the intercom for this room. Oh dear, how clumsy of me!”_

Lieca hides a chuckles behind her hand as Lana enters the room, glaring up towards the comm speakers. “Honestly, is there no peace to be had in this ship?” the Sith scowls. “It’s a miracle they get anything done.”

Lieca smiles. “Peace is a lie?” she responds in a song-song voice.

Lana glares at her. “And here I thought humour to be too emotional an endeavour for Jedi to risk,” she says loftily, though she’s clearly hiding a smile. “At least the ship should be able to make multiple jumps to hide our end destination now. Any other repairs can be finished on Odessen if required, though I believe Risha and her team should be finished later today. No sense rushing just yet.”

Lieca curls her legs in closer to reveal more of the couch and gestures for Lana to sit in front of her. “And last I had heard the refugees we helped in the swamps are settling in nicely?” she asks uncertainly.

Lana hesitantly sits down, but nods. “Yes, I spoke to Deela this morning. All’s well, as far as they are concerned - some of them intend to stay on Asylum and find work here, and some are looking for transportation to other worlds,” she says, huffing and blowing a bit of blonde hair off her forehead. “At least one thing to cross off the list.”

Lieca smiles wryly. “And another three clamouring to take its place?”

Lana groans, covering her face in her hands. “Stop giving them ideas!” she mutters petulantly, making Lieca laugh again.

The light-hearted moment is interrupted by Lieca’s holocom beeping, and she pulls it out of her pocket quickly before activating it. Heskal’s image appears over her comm, arms folded and eyes narrowed. _“Your presence is required. Come immediately - and alone,”_ he says shortly, before ending the connection.

Lieca blinks at her now blank holocom and Lana raises an eyebrow. “Charmer, that one,” the Sith says dryly.

She sighs. “He did say he would contact us if he had more information,” she says softly, swinging her legs to the floor. “I best be going.”

Lana catches her arm before she stands up and she blinks at her friend. “What?”

Lana is too tense, her grip on her arm almost too tight. “I don’t think you should go alone,” she says with more urgency than Lieca would have thought the situation called for. “They seem to only count Force users as people worthy of their consideration, so you should be fine with HK. The droid can protect you.”

Lieca smiles indulgently. “Alright, I’ll take HK. Sound fair?”

Lana nods fiercely. “Fine. And you have one hour. I remember how they treated you all last time, and I will break down the doors if I have to.”

“Agreed. Stay safe Lana.”

“You too. One hour.”

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for Lieca and HK to make their way across the port city to the Scion’s hideout; Lieca smiles faintly as she recalls Calli’s remarks the last time they were here, the amusement warring with the unease in her belly as they reach the concealed entrance.

She focuses on the memory of Calli’s dry comments to try to drown out the hissing in her skull, which seems to be trying to distract her from concentrating on anything else. HK seems wary of their surroundings, but she reassures the droid with a quick wave of her hand. “I’m fine HK, just a little dizzy,” she says truthfully, pressing the bridge of her nose for a moment.

“Query: Do you need to sit down for a moment Master?”

She shakes her head. “No I’ll be okay,” she says quickly before raising an eyebrow at the droid. “Please remember your orders, though.”

“Recitation: I am not authorised to harm any individuals unless they directly threaten this unit or my Master. Clarification: If we are attacked, I am authorised to shoot to immobilise or disarm, not to kill.”

She nods, pleased, and choosing to ignore the sulky undertone to HK’s voice. “It’s easier to protect me if you’re not enraging everyone around us,” she says soothingly, biting back a smile at the way the droid still somehow seems petulant.

But with the Scions, she doesn’t exactly want to take chances.

Her head is still hissing at her, and she rubs at her temples with a touch of the Force, not sure whether she’s dealing with a headache or another of Valkorion’s tantrums. The first hall is curiously empty, and she can’t help but glance towards the ceiling as if expecting their foolish trials to begin anew; but she feels worse, somehow, like her nerves are finely strung steel vibrating softly with tension. Perhaps Lana’s paranoia is rubbing off on her. Well, she doesn’t exactly trust Heskal either, but still. She winces, rubbing at her forehead and regretting not taking a moment to take some myocaine before she set off.

The base seems oddly quiet, even less background noise and chatter than on their previous visit, and her nerves had been skyrocketing then too. She starts fiddling with her gloves again, gesturing for HK to draw his weapon, but to stay behind her. Is this another one of their wretched tests? Has she not proved herself adequately to them?

The quiet is growing more and more unnerving; all she can hear is the slight clunk and creak of HK’s metal joints behind her, and even that keeps making her jump.

“Statement: I do not like this, Master.”

She sighs. “Neither do I. But we’re here now.”

Silence reigns until they enter the main room, and her feeling of relief at seeing Heskal standing there is quickly drowned out by horror, her skin prickling painfully as she recognised some of his people dead at his feet. Heskal stands facing her, silent and terrifying, with his ignited lightsaber in his hand.

She realises too late that Valkorion has been distracting her from the Force’s warnings when he retreats suddenly. If she hadn’t already been tense, she would have doubled over from the shock as the warnings come crashing down on her all at once, a sheer psychic tsunami of terrible energy.

Something is very, _very_ wrong here.

She moves her hand to her hip where her lightsaber rests, very hesitant to use it, but painfully aware they may be long past the point of diplomacy.

“Heskal?”

The Scion does not answer, and it unnerves her more than she can say; the Force hisses and seethes like a maelstrom, even louder than Valkorion’s intrusions. “Heskal?” she tries again.

She freezes as she feels the tremor of the Force at work, a subtle disharmonious chord buried beneath the cacophony, and Heskal’s lightsaber disengages and slowly falls from his hand. The rest of him remains unmoving.

A flicker, a shadow. It may have been five years since they last stood face to face, but she would know that presence anywhere. Even so, she still jumps at the flash of Arcann’s lightsaber through Heskal’s chest, squeezing her eyes shut against the flash of pain she feels from the leader of the Scions; she can barely keep herself from flinching when he carelessly throws the body aside with no more care than that of a toddler bored with a toy.

She gestures wordlessly for HK to stay still, before looking back at the prince - no, _Emperor_ \- in front of her.

It’s hard to tell with the mask but she thinks he might be smirking at her. “I don’t leave Zakuul for just anyone. Be honoured.”

She bristles, shifting both hands to her hips. “Did you follow me?” she says, proud that her voice does not tremble.

Does he know about her people? Does he know where _Calli_ is? Would he hurt her? She’s too terrified to think straight for a moment, quickly blocking out the mocking laughter ringing in her ears.

The Emperor seems unaware of her distracted thoughts, shifting his hands behind his back. “I was invited. Heskal arranged all of this - the _fool_.”

She can’t quite stop the sudden horrified glance towards the prone Scion, and Arcann responds with a chuckle that shivers down her spine. “He believed his _destiny_ was to betray you. Scions have always worshipped at the false altar of fate. That is why I kill them. I am beyond prophecy - I forge my own destiny by making the hard choices.”

Strange how before her stands the tyrant of the galaxy, but all she can see is the dutiful son she met on the bridge of a ship five years ago, bickering with soothsayers, before he made a choice that changed both of their lives forever. She feels a sudden pang of regret for the loss of Darth Marr that day - they were never friends, but they respected one another and she feels he deserved so much better than what had happened.

Marr’s open disdain for Arcann had invited the prince’s hostility in turn, as though determined to prove himself then as much as he is now. His surly argument with Heskal all those years ago had shown an inkling of the man within, terrified of being bound to the will of others and lashing out to avoid it. Even now, as the most powerful man in the galaxy and with his safety assured, Arcann’s casually gleeful threats towards the Scions remind her of little more than a petulant child, still trying to prove himself the biggest bully on the playground.

But unlike most sith she has faced, the calm way he speaks to her shows how dangerous he really is.

He raises an eyebrow as though aware her thoughts are drifting, gesturing with his real hand. “But the Scions are hardly of interest to me,” he says. “ _You_ are.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “What is it that you are looking for?” she asks cautiously.

He sighs, an affectation if ever she heard one. She wonders whether he rehearsed it before his arrival. “I am not without mercy,” he says, voice tight as though daring her to disagree. “ _Surrender_.”

She tries to hide her vague amusement at the way it’s still phrased as an order rather than a request. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” she says softly. “What are you looking for? Why are you hunting me?”

For the first time he falters, his visible golden eye darting to the side for a moment. “You defied Zakuul. You cannot be allowed to remain here.”

“As I recall, I only defied the former Emperor when he demanded I kneel to him,” she says quietly. “I supported you when you turned against him.”

Arcann almost seems to flinch at her words, her reference to his own betrayal clear while remaining unsaid. She frowns, reflexively pushing back against the growing aggression in her mind. “So I ask again, why are you hunting me?”

She can almost sense the way his thoughts keep jumping around before he speaks, clearly trying to take control of the conversation again. “If you surrender, your friends here will be free to leave, and you will be returned to carbonite.”

She blinks - both at the blatant refusal to answer her question, and at the surprising turn of thought. “Why?”

He falters, and it's growing more apparent that he had carefully scripted this conversation beforehand, and that her refusal to adhere to his script is unsettling him. “What?”

She gestures irritably. “Why seal me away? Again? It seems a bit counterproductive, to have hunted me so excessively simply to turn me back into a wall decoration.”

He frowns. “My reasons are not your concern,” he says tightly, his posture turning threatening again. “The Eternal Fleet is here, on my orders. Your friends are running out of time.”

Lieca tenses. “My friends?”

He gestures with his real hand again, and she curiously notes he doesn’t seem to use his robotic arm as a natural part of his body language; the healer in her cannot help but zero in on such a small but telling detail. “Do not play coy with me, Master Amell. You obviously required a significant amount of help to escape Zakuul, and it is clear that your people are currently here on Asylum,” he says, his voice shifting into almost manic glee. “Your ship, the alleged ‘Gravestone’, is rather large and hard to miss. It would be a shame if something happened to it. You remember how well it fought the Fleet last time, yes?”

She tries to hide her wince at his words, feeling herself growing angry at the threat towards her people. She can’t even warn them. And… does he know _exactly_ who helped her? Is he looking for them?

_Does he know about Calli?_

Playing dumb might give her a few crucial minutes. “The ‘ _alleged_ ’ Gravestone? You speak as though the ship is more significant than I thought. Is there something else about it?” she says with false hesitance.

He almost puffs up with superiority, and she hides a smile. How easy it is to appeal to his ego. “The Gravestone is a figure of myth and legend. I highly doubt you managed to find such a ship in the middle of the swamps of Zakuul.”

She tilts her head to the side. “It has a place in your mythology? What is its tale?”

He blinks, looking confused for a moment before his expression hardens. “Stop trying to bait me,” he says angrily. “We are not here to discuss our children’s stories.”

She smiles, deliberately keeping her tone light. “ _Our_ children? You know, saying things like that only provides more fodder for the rumour mills, right?”

He seems visibly thrown off by her words. “I- what?”

She shifts her own hands behind her back, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible as she shrugs. “People love their gossip. You will always find those willing to see relationships where none exist.”

To her amusement, he actually blushes before his temper flares again. “Do not try my patience, _Outlander_ ,” he snarls. “Your friends lives hang in the balance here. Presumably _that_ is something you generally concern yourself with.”

She goes to respond, but Valkorion chuckles in her head, the sound itself enough to make her skin crawl in revulsion; she can feel his thoughts as plainly as if they were her own, the mockery and disgust he feels for his son, and it’s strong enough that it distracts her for a moment as she tries to push him aside.

Arcann jumps slightly at the same time as Valkorion’s sinister laughter, and she hesitates, wondering if he can sense what she’s doing somehow - whether he can sense his father’s presence. But no, Valkorion is just in her head. He can’t get to anyone else. She won’t let him.

The Emperor huffs and shifts his hands to his hips, and she dismisses the moment as just a product of her own nerves. “I’m a busy man,” he growls. “Don’t make me wait.”

“For what?”

“For your _surrender_ ,” he says, clearly frustrated by the circular nature of their conversation. “You are outmatched and outnumbered - there is nothing to be gained by fighting me. Stand down peacefully, and I will be merciful to your rebel friends.”

Lana’s absolutely going to kill her for this - oh stars, and Calli -, but she has no other choice here. It’s the only warning she can give them of what is afoot. “To save my friends and avoid further bloodshed, I will surrender,” she says quietly, eyes bright as Arcann relaxes marginally, before steel enters her voice. “But they will not stand down unless I ask them to. I need to contact them first.”

Arcann gestures, all but radiating smugness. “I do respect loyalty, Master Amell. Proceed.”

She activates the comm in her wristband with shaking fingers, hoping the way Arcann jumps as she does is pure coincidence and not because of Valkorion’s mocking laughter at her supposed weakness. She swallows before activating the voice-only connection, well aware she doesn’t have the strength to do this face to face. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

It’s a slim chance that Arcann doesn’t already know who’s travelling with her, but she’ll take it and not provide names for even that sliver of hope.

It’s Lana who answers. “ _There you are! I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon_.”

Conscious of the golden eye staring at her, she closes her own eyes and takes a deep breath before speaking. “The Eternal Fleet is here and the Gravestone is surrounded. Please, surrender the ship and get out _now_ ,” she says shakily, already hearing murmurs in the background and fairly certain she’s about to hear Calli’s angry shrieks. “Arcann… Arcann is here. But he promises that you can all go free. Please, _please_ don’t fight him.”

She can almost _feel_ Lana’s rage even through the commlink but she’s too distracted by the manifestation of Valkorion next to her to realise what the Sith is saying before she instinctively shuts off the comm to address him.

It’s been a few weeks since Valkorion has manifested outside of her head, and the flash of rage she feels from him makes her briefly happy he’s at least marginally separate from her right now. Whatever Force tricks he employs to manifest, especially when he seemingly pauses time or whatever it is he does to sneer at her in person, she does not understand, but she’ll be paying for it later. Her headache spikes.

Valkorion’s furious glare turns from her to Arcann, all but radiating disgusted fury. “I do not know what I hate more… cowardice, or incompetence!”

She’s about to respond with a tired sigh, well and truly fed up with his tantrums, when she realises with surprise that Arcann’s eye is no longer looking at her - but instead to her left, where Valkorion stands.

“You… you can see him too?” she asks in a horrified whisper.

Arcann swallows, his bright golden eye wide as he stares at the Force ghost of his father. “So you _have_ been here all along,” he says quietly, but he can’t quite hide the fear in his voice.

Valkorion sneers at him. “You will _never_ be rid of me, Arcann.”

The way the Emperor all but hunches in on himself makes her heart ache, the defensive body language of one long accustomed to abuse, and she pushes a Force wave at Valkorion in a sudden fierce desire to protect. “Hey! Leave him alone!”

Arcann could not have looked more stunned at her defense of him than if she’d started to dance the margengai-glide, and Valkorion turns to face her with a thunderous scowl, his image distorting like it was on the water’s surface after she dropped a rock into a pond. “So _protective_ , my dear. My spineless son is not deserving of your sympathy.”

She seethes at him, pushing the Force harder to try to lock him away again in the depths of her mind. “ _Don’t_ tell me what to do,” she bites out. “I’ll protect anyone I want from you, _especially_ your family!”

“My family is not worthy of your consideration - they were certainly never worthy of mine.”

The room is a roiling mess of emotions, and beneath the monstrous storm of Valkorion’s rage - Force preserve her, it’s so hard to block it out, to maintain her balance and not succumb to the darkness of his anger -, she can still sense the bitter tang of Arcann’s fear. A Jedi should not know hate, but there is nothing else she can call the strength of her disdain for Valkorion. “I chose your son over you last time,” she said, feeling herself wavering under the force of his psychic assault, “and I would choose him again this time.”

Valkorion draws himself upright, the rippling effect beginning to slow, but his overall appearance is starting to fade as her shields slowly start blocking him out. He turns back to his son. “You want freedom?” he says, his tone both mocking and commanding. “Then _kill_ the _Outlander_.”

With a pained gasp, Lieca gains enough of a foothold to seal him out completely, almost doubling over in relief as the assault eases immediately. HK makes a concerned noise behind her but she waves him down; stars, she has never felt darkness like that, not even in all the years they were bound together in the carbonite. The intensity of his rage, of his hatred...

It frightens her how easily she was tempted to use that power. Even telling herself she was using it for good, using it against _him_ , doesn’t ease the guilt.

When she straightens, Arcann is standing there with his lightsaber ignited, but still clearly bewildered. “What did you do?”

She smiles shakily, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with hands that tremble. “Sealed him. Temporarily, at least. He won’t bother us again for awhile.”

The Emperor stares. “But, _why_ did you do that?”

Lieca frowns. “He was trying to hurt you.”

He continues to stare, the silence stretching out between them for an uncomfortably long moment. She wets her lips and tries again. “It’s become somewhat of a habit, denying him whatever he wants. He is a needlessly cruel man, a monster, and rejecting his demands is a small and petty enjoyment, I’ll admit, but...” She spreads her hands wide. “Not even a Jedi is above pettiness. Especially not at the expense of a monster.”

Arcann seems almost... _distressed_ , from the way the visible portion of his face moves. “You can stop him?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, the headache surging in full force now that the adrenalin is fading. “Sometimes,” she answers honestly. “It’s… it’s hard. I don’t know how you all survived; you deserved better than being abused by such a demon.”

Arcann violently flinches, taking a step backwards; it distresses her, because she had hoped that reaching out to him with a spirit of compassion would see him more willing to discuss things rationally. She hesitates before speaking again. “You had suspicions about his presence?”

He scowls, his grip on his lightsaber visibly tightening. “It was obvious he wasn’t entirely gone,” he snarls angrily, but his eye is still flickering with fear. “I suspected he somehow found shelter with you. Your forgiving nature is well-known… and easily exploitable.”

Ah. So he sees her attitude not of one of kindness, but of weakness. No wonder he’d flinched at the metaphorical olive branch she’d extended. She’s not particularly fond of the mocking tone he uses, but decides to ignore it. “He is not here by my choice,” she says quietly. “But I thought as long as he was in my head he couldn’t touch anyone else. I’m sorry I was wrong.”

He’s still staring at her, seemingly in confusion, and seems about to say something when she hears an explosion in the distance, and they both turn towards it.

She freezes and her comm beeps loudly. Lana’s voice cuts through the tension in the room like a knife, sounding furious. “ _The Gravestone is under attack! Arcann’s forces have locked the docking bay and we can’t leave! I swear by the Force, you’d better not have surrendered or else I-_ ”

She quickly cuts her off, turning to face Arcann in horror. “You said they would be safe!”

He closes his eye for a moment, radiating vague guilt and embarrassment. “Vaylin. I should have known she would not want to wait.”

“Perhaps you should have chosen another general for your forces then,” she snaps, fear for her friends making her tone sharper than she’d like.

He glares at her, also clearly unsettled. “And I suppose your sister always listens to you?”

She falters, a brief flash of both Calli and Cera running through her mind before she smiles. “Well, one of them does,” she says quietly.

He blinks at her, tilting his head in confusion, which she finds odd. Surely he knows she has two sisters? Come to think of it, if he knew about Calli, why did he let her get so close? Did he somehow not know about her?

But the Force hisses an angry warning before either of them can speak and she pushes HK back. “Get down!” she shouts, all but tackling the droid onto the ground.

Arcann looks at her in confusion, and actually takes a step towards them - just as the far wall implodes inward in an explosion of duracrete and metal, a flaming shuttle surging into the building and thundering right through the place where she’d been standing a second earlier.

The power cells in the shuttle, probably already damaged by the fire, explode upon impact, and Lieca throws up a small bubble around herself and HK, chunks of rock and molten metal raining down over them for a good ten or fifteen seconds while the remains of the ship comes to a grinding halt somewhere down the corridor. The vast hall - or what remains of it - is silent, no sign of life as the dust slowly rains down over them, gathering on the outside of the bubble like gentle snow settling in the night. The roar of the fire down the hallway continues, and in the distance she can hear sirens, and for a moment she’s a girl again, running through the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant with the other children, the air raid sirens sounding as the Sith continue their attack against their capital world.

And then HK is shaking her, and she’s back on Asylum. Back on another world under attack.

“Concern: Are you alright, Master?”

The bubble around them collapses, and the dust promptly falls onto them; coughing, Lieca tries to shield her eyes as she allows HK to pull her to her feet. “Is Arcann...?” She can’t see any other movement in the room, no signs of life; she can’t sense him either, her thoughts too scattered from the explosion.

“Exaggeration: I am quite certain the young man is perfectly alright, Master. Assertion: We should also leave immediately if we are to rendezvous with the others.”

There was a loud crack, and a large segment of the ceiling thundered to the floor, the reverberating boom nearly throwing her off her feet again. “That seems like a good idea,” she says, stumbling after the droid as the room slowly collapses in on itself behind her.

She remembers too late Senya’s words about the lack of Force precognitive warnings amongst their people, realising that Arcann would have had no idea what was happening and probably did not move out of the way in time to avoid injury. The door is completely blocked off and it would take serious effort to move the rubble out of the way. With her thoughts easing again, she realises with a rush of relief that she can still feel him inside the room, so he is at least alive. She doesn’t have time to go back and see that he is uninjured, especially when she can’t guarantee that he won’t try to kill her the moment she lowers her guard. She feels guilt for that, but Lana’s warning about the ship echoes in her ears, and she can’t worry about an angry, confused Emperor when her family is in danger.

She activates the comm in her wrist again as she takes off down the hall, stumbling as the explosions keep rocking the building. “Lana! I-”

“ _Tell me you’re alive_!”

She barely dodges one of the tiles from the ceiling as it crashes to the ground, catching HK’s arm to right herself as they move. “I’m fine, tell me what’s happening.”

Lana sighs, blaster fire echoing in the background of her call. “ _Thank goodness. Are you going to stop hanging up on me now?_ ”

She huffs, dodging a shower of transparisteel from the nearby shattered window. “I was trying to end this peacefully,” she say, shouting to be heard over the sirens and the fighting. “I wasn’t exactly planning on the explosions, Lana!”

Lana huffs in annoyance, sounding out of breath. “ _What’s done is done. The Gravestone has been grounded - Arcann’s forces have sealed the docking clamps. I sent Calli, Koth and Pierce to the Control Spar to try to unlock it, but I haven’t heard from them._ ”

Fear clamps around her heart like a vice, and she almost can’t breathe. Calli is in danger, and Arcann’s here on Asylum, and what if he gets free and gets to her before she does, and-

Lana speaks again, unaware of her distraction. “ _I was about to head there myself, but we’ve got bigger problems_ ,” she says grimly. “ _Koth’s crew are able to deal with the Skytroopers - but Vaylin’s here too. I can’t leave._ ”

“It’s fine, I’m probably closer anyway,” she says hurriedly, still ducking away from debris as she moves. “I’ll get Holiday to send the coordinates to HK and-”

“Interjection: I already have the coordinates. This way, Master!”

“ _Good. Keep us posted. What the hell happened to Arcann? Was he there?_ ”

Lieca winces, pausing for a moment as the building keeps shaking. “He was. Something crashed into the building and the room collapsed around us. I escaped, but I think he’s still trapped,” she admits quietly. “We’ll talk about it when we get back?”

“ _Hmmph. Fine then. May the Force ever serve you._ ”

She deactivates her commlink and takes a deep breath to steady herself before looking to her droid. “Let’s go, HK,” she says quickly.

_Get to Calli, deactivate the locks on the ship, flee before Arcann finds out she’s here._

_If he doesn’t already know._


	11. The Control Spar

Calli steps out of stealth just in time to take out the Skytrooper in front of her, destroying it before it has the time to shoot at Koth. He waves wearily back at her in thanks, before shifting his rifle to aim at the next one. The goddamn waves of them seem never ending, and if there’s one thing she’s never really had to be alert for during all her years masquerading as a citizen on Zakuul, it’s the seemingly unending squads of Skytroopers that appear to function on the assumption that swarming an enemy position with wave after wave of troops incapable of exhaustion will win the day.

She has to say, wiping the sweat from her brow as she crouches in cover beside Koth, it’s a frustratingly successful tactic.

But before he can land the shot, another shot rings out and drops the Skytrooper instantly, followed by a piece of debris slams into the next one. Jerking around in surprise, she looks towards the alley mouth and nearly collapses in relief at seeing her sister and HK standing there.

Once the Skytroopers are all dealt with, she finds herself standing close enough to Lieca that her sister can reach out to hug her; she pretends it was a coincidence, closing her eyes to hide the misery in them from anyone looking too closely. “Decided surrender was too boring?” she asks shakily, trying to sound witty.

She can’t even begin to describe how she felt when her sister rang the ship to say that Arcann was with her. Panic, rage, guilt, hurt… of _course_ her bleeding heart of a Jedi sister would surrender to save all of them.

_Did she surrender to save me?_

_Does he know I’m here?_

But she can’t afford to think of any of that right now, and just focuses on squeezing Lieca tight, concentrating on the fact that her sister is here and safe and she can physically feel her in her arms. After a moment, Lieca steps back and cups her cheek in her hand, searching her face as if looking for something. “Are you all alright?” she asks quickly, the question directed at the group but clearly aimed at her.

Calli feels nervous about the vaguely glazed look in her sister’s eyes, well aware she’s pushing herself a little hard here. But Lieca still moves her hand to her waist to heal the slight burn from an earlier blaster bolt, muttering to herself as Calli curses at the brief sting. At least distracting her with injuries to heal means she can’t launch into another conversation about Arcann, something Calli is dreading more and more with every passing moment.

Pierce and Koth both nod in the affirmative, Koth waving Lieca off when she turns to him. But she ignores him and waves her hand, and Koth gasps as the Force concentrates on the wound on his thigh. “Hey Lieca, ugh! We’re fine. Just a bit singed,” he says, hissing as he straightens his leg again. “Arcann locked down the entire network - he controls all the blast doors, turbolifts, docking clamps, you name it.”

Calli frowns, performing a quick check on her blaster pistol before she returns it to its holster. “Guess this is what happens when a docking port copies the security protocols of Zakuul - pretty damn easy for an invading force to freeze the entire system if they built the original!”

Koth glares at her, but it was a much tamer version of her original complaint when she’d tried to access a server earlier and discovered how badly screwed they all were, so really, what is he upset about?

She folds her arms and Koth huffs in amusement. “Fine, I guess that’s a fair point. But we’re going to need to access one of the override stations to free the Gravestone. The nearest one is on top of the Control Spar, and I’m expecting pretty strong resistance. HK, we’ll need you to start clearing a path soon.”

The droid seems rather gleeful. “Affirmation: Yes Master Vortena. I shall leave a trail of meatbags for you to follow!”

Koth frowns but apparently decides to ignore the droid, and shakes his head. “We were trying to secure all the doors leading to the Spar before we got attacked,” he admits, Calli gingerly stepping towards the nearby console while he talks. “It’s going to be a lot easier if we can stop reinforcements.”

Lieca nods. “I agree. Lana was going to meet you here, but Vaylin has arrived on the docks, so she needed to stay and defend the ship with Senya.”

Koth pales. “Vaylin’s here? My crew!”

Calli quickly resumes tapping away at the commands on the nearby console, trying to manually rewrite the system to lock down the doors on her orders, while Lieca gently catches Koth’s forearm. “They were all safe, last I heard,” she says softly. “Lana and Senya will protect them.”

Calli suddenly crows in triumph, causing the others to look over at her. “Found something! Koth, there’s a shuttle on the next level up, we can use it to bypass the locked turbolifts and get straight to the override station up top.”

He frowns at her. “Won’t you need the-”

“Already got the command codes, thanks for asking. Let’s go!”

If they get out of here fast enough, she might not have to deal with Arcann at all. It’s a small and pitiful hope, she knows, but she’ll take what she can get. She doesn’t like the look in Lieca’s eyes whenever she finds her staring at her, and she doesn’t like the way her miserable heart keeps lurching every time someone says his name. Isn’t it enough to know he’s stalked them here, and is attacking them, trying to imprison her sister again? Can’t her damn heart just follow along with what’s the right thing to do, what’s the sensible thing to do?

Lieca keeps glancing at her, and she ignores her. She’s not gonna bring it up, no sir. Especially not in front of the others.

The path between them and the shuttle is mercifully clear of obstructions, with only one patrol of Skytroopers between them and the stairs, and then none on the floor above them. In no time at all they make it the shuttle, with Koth lunging for the pilot’s seat while Calli slides in just as fast behind him, plugging her dataspike into the console and tapping in the codes she’d found buried in the station info files. A squad of Skytroopers spills out onto the platform just as the controls light up in front of them, the blaster bolts slamming into the windscreen and making Koth yelp in alarm.

“Hang on!” he yells, pulling back hard on the steering; the ship surges upwards and sideways, and all of the unsecured items in the back of the shuttle go flying against the wall - including HK. The blaster bolts hammer them, the metal clang on the hull almost painfully loud. Holding onto the edge of the door with one hand, Pierce leans out the hatch with seemingly very little regard for his personal safety and lets off a volley of shots behind them.

Calli feels fingers dig into her shoulder and glances up, finding Lieca clinging to her for dear life. She manages a shaky smile. “Looking a little green around the gills there, sis,” she says.

Lieca’s smile is thin, and clearly forced. “There’s a reason Cera is the acrobatic one, not me,” she says, crying out softly when the ship drops a few feet. “I don’t have the stomach for this.”

“If you throw up in my hair, I’m never going to forgive you.”

“I’ll try to be considerate of your hair if I get that ill.”

The Control Spar is by far the most obvious choice and the most exposed choice should Arcann or Vaylin realise what they’re up to - all they really need to do is turn the fleet’s attention to the tower, bombarding their position from orbit, and they’re done for. But they’re running out of time, and running out of places that aren’t overrun by Skytroopers, and she’s going to need as much time as possible if she’s going to counteract some of the best security software in the galaxy. The Control Spar’s defences are predominantly focused on the lower levels - air support seems to have been deactivated for the time being.

It feels like a trap, exposed in the sky with only one way in or out, but they have no other options.

Now if only her comm would stop beeping with some unknown alert in her earpiece that she has no time to track down the cause for, she would actually be able to concentrate for this.

Koth brings the smoking shuttle down on the highest visible platform, thankfully before Lieca makes a mess in the cockpit. The five of them disembark on the same level as the main station console, making quick work of the Skytroopers standing guard between Lieca’s lightsaber and their blasters.

Calli waits for her stealth generator to recharge while Lieca focuses on healing the group’s minor injuries. Her holo beeps and she quickly pulls it out of her pocket to see Risha. “Hey, what’s up?”

Risha’s figure is kneeling down, apparently still fixing something on the bridge while she calls. “ _Don’t ask_ ,” she says shortly. “ _Just calling to let you know - apparently some of the cameras reactivated and they know where you are. Holiday says to pass on that a squadron of Zakuulan Knights are headed your way. She barely has enough runtime to springboard off the holo networks here, so we don’t have much else to go on_.”

Lieca appears over her shoulder, making her jump. “Has anyone spotted Arcann yet?” her sister asks urgently.

Risha frowns, momentarily distracted from her tasks. “ _The Emperor? Uh, I don’t think so - Holiday? Yes, I know you’re busy, we all are. SCORPIO, what the fuck do you think you’re-_ ”

_“Emperor Arcann has not been detected on any of the active security networks. It is likely that he is deliberately obscuring his location. Caution is advised.”_

_“SCORPIO for the last time, do not fucking hack my comm-”_

Risha apparently hangs up before continuing her diatribe, as the connection suddenly drops.

Lieca makes a vaguely frustrated noise behind her, and when she turns around, her sister is wincing and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Liss?”

The way she smiles in return might have fooled her, if it hadn’t been for the pain in her eyes. “I’m fine,” she says softly, before looking at the others.

Koth seems to understand before she speaks. “A squadron of Knights you say? The Major, HK and I can handle those,” he says, smiling grimly. “You girls better get to that console, we’ll stand guard at your backs.”

Calli blinks at him and his smile softens. “You got this, Calli. I’ve never seen anyone as good at slicing as you,” he says sincerely. “Do whatever you can to get the Gravestone flying again.”

She almost gasps, completely thrown off by the unexpected praise. “Uh, thanks?” she says awkwardly, staring rather determinedly at the ground.

He salutes at them both before waving HK over, Pierce already moving to stand guard at the entrance.

Lieca catches her arm, firmly taking hold of Calli’s hand and squeezing before addressing Koth. “Be ready to run when we get back,” she says quickly. Calli can’t tell if holding hands is meant to reassure her, or her sister. “Please don’t be reckless, we need you safe and sound too!”

Koth smirks. “Me, reckless? Never! The droid though, no promises.”

“Commentary: I am programmed for self-restraint! ... usually.”

Koth sighs, before waving the girls away. “Get going! We’ll be fine here.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last few hallways between them and the security controls are mercifully empty, and their footsteps echo loudly as they race down the corridors. Calli, having spent the last few months keeping to a painful exercise regime in preparation for the escape plans, barely finds herself out of breath, but she notices Lieca struggling and surreptitiously slows the pace.

They finally make their way into the main control room, a wide, diamond shaped room that overlooks the entire spaceport, the wind whistling eerily at this height. Through the open shutters and below the walkways, they can clearly see the battle taking place across the port, and the sky full of the terrifying grid-like formation of the Eternal Fleet. There are cranes hanging from the ceiling, the heavy cables wound up tight while the hooks for transporting cargo to the top of the tower creak slowly as the wind tries to push them. The open panels beneath the winches show a massive drop, all the way down to the lower levels, and Lieca makes a pained noise and moves as far away from the drop as possible.

Calli raises an eyebrow as she rushes over to the giant computer terminal on the far wall. “Heights too?” she asks. It’s a bit concerning that the dockmaster isn’t here, or any of the air control regulators that this sort of port would normally require in order to function, but she figures they must have made a run for it when the ships first appeared in the sky.

Lieca leans rather heavily on the console beside her, trying to catch her breath from their dead sprint away from the others. “Well, you know,” she says, panting, “I would just like to hope that any sensible person would be uneasy about being in a giant tower with minimal floor coverings while the wind tries to blow you out the side and a massive enemy force tries to blow you up.”

Calli forces a laugh, but she has no time to check on her sister’s welfare, immediately throwing herself into the daunting task of trying to hack past the security locking the docking clamps in order to free the Gravestone. She stabs her dataspike into the main console, probably with more force than is necessary, and pulls up the security mainframe to try and isolate the docking procedure algorithms.

Lieca straightens after a few minutes, apparently watching her fingers flying across the buttons. “And they say the Force is magic,” she says wryly, audibly wincing and moving her hand to her side.

Calli huffs at her in response, unable to divide her focus much further. Whatever the fuck is defending this system is good, but she knows she’s better. She hasn’t trained against Holiday for years for nothing.

Lieca suddenly touches her shoulder, making her jump. “You’ve got this, Calli,” she says soothingly, gently squeezing.

It’s good that she made it past the last subroutine because that’s almost enough to completely throw off her concentration.

Lieca is so _different_ since she came out of carbonite, so much more open than the reserved Jedi she remembers. She’s her sister and she loves her to pieces, but Jedi just don’t act like this. Jedi don’t all but bowl their sisters over with hugs out of nowhere, five years apart notwithstanding.

Perhaps she’s remembering her sister unkindly, but it’s still bewildering her. Of course it’s great having her sister be so happy to be around her, so physically affection and open with her feelings, but it’s also weirding her out a little bit too.

Maybe she should stop thinking about Jedi and just focus, there’s a thought.

It’s only another few minutes before she finally breaks through the first firewall, and her whoop of triumph is enough to get a similar response from Lieca as she turns to her with sparkling eyes. “I did it!”

Lieca grins, her eyes mirroring hers, and both sisters look down as Lieca’s holo beeps.

She’s never been happier to hear SCOPRIO’s voice and it will doubtless never happen again. “ _Docking clamps have been released. I will prepare the ship for launch.”_

Lieca actually laughs in relief, her entire face relaxing. “Thank the Force,” she breathes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re amazing Cal!”

She tries not to let her glee at her sister’s compliment show, but Lieca quickly wraps her arms around her from behind for a quick hug, so she knows she understands. Lieca then turns around to resume standing guard, while Calli starts backtracking through the system, trying to redirect some of the other security measures away from the others and make sure the docking clamps remain non operational.

Her holo beeps suddenly, loudly enough that they both jump, and she pulls out her personal datapad with a frown at the unfamiliar chime. It’s flashing some sort of warning about a proximity alarm?

She tilts her head at it in confusion. Proximity alarm for what? What the hell is it tracking?

Lieca seems puzzled too. “Calli, what is it?”

She frowns. “I have no idea? It must be malfunctioning, I don’t remember tracking anything,” she mutters. “Whatever, time to get out of here I think. Just give me a few minutes.”

Lieca nods and turns back around, but it’s only a half second later before she hears her sister’s sharp intake of breath. “I think you’ve only got one,” her sister says with miserable resignation.

She tilts her head in confusion. “Hmm?” she asks distractedly

The sudden hum of a lightsaber activating across the room answers her question, and both sisters freeze.

 _Fuck_.

But you know, maybe she’s jumping to conclusions and it’s not _him_ ; she’s just being ridiculous, it’s probably one of the Knights and-

“Going somewhere, Outlander? We have unfinished business.”

Double fuck.

Her heart is in her throat, but she’s too busy panicking to turn around, her fingers still frozen on the console for a moment. She’s suddenly very glad for Lieca’s ‘ _calm, Jedi serenity_ ’ act when her sister responds, almost polite if one ignores the steel in her voice. “Yes, we were just leaving. Thank you.”

Arcann chuckles, and it does not it does not do a single thing for her. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” he drawls, moving closer by the sound of his footsteps, which she doesn’t want to turn around to check. “We had a deal.”

Lieca huffs. “Apologies, but that deal became void when you attacked my family,” she says calmly, her voice jumping straight to the tone she always used to use with Senators she absolutely couldn’t stand. “I’m therefore disinclined to trust your word again.”

Arcann apparently stopped moving by the way she can no longer hear his footsteps on the metal floor, and when he speaks he sounds confused. “Your family? I had no details about the Battlemaster being here.”

Calli feels her temper flare immediately, apparently obvious enough that Lieca hisses and reaches out a hand to stop her turning around.

A good thing too, as it makes it easier to hide the tears she can’t stop forming in her eyes.

Of course he only fucking cares about Cera and Lieca, the two perfect Jedi sisters. Even the man who chose her over an entire party of people eager to throw themselves at him still thinks about her sisters first. Of _course_ he never gave her a second thought - the useless little slicer, good for nothing but a quick fuck before being thrown out like trash.

Nothing’s ever just for her. Even this moment has nothing to do with her.

Lieca sounds more uncertain when she speaks now, her tone worried. “I didn’t mean Cera,” she says quietly. “And my family is more than my blood relations here.”

Lieca’s words apparently confuse Arcann further, because it's a long moment before he speaks again. Of course he’s confused at the idea of family, selfish prick doesn't care about anyone but himself and-

“Well then, who did you bring with you to slice past my security? I’m almost impressed you found someone so willing to betray me, given the fact that they will die for such an offense.”

Both sisters tense, and she tells herself she’s imagining the swell of pride in Lieca’s voice. “Family.”

Arcann scoffs. “I think they’re a little short to be your ‘ _Technoplague_ ’ lover,” he says in scornful amusement.

Calli’s temper flares again and she folds her arms to hide her shaking fingers as she turns around, breaking free from Lieca’s hold, shouldering past her until she’s standing on the step. Words fail her completely when she sees him, just as stunning to look at now as he had been at the party, even with his soot stained clothes and the faint bloody cut on his forehead. The wave of emotion she feels at seeing him - not a holoimage, not one of his stupid propaganda videos, but actually him, in the flesh, right in front of her - is almost overwhelming, and only righteous indignation keeps her from breaking down. She wasn’t supposed to care, she _doesn’t_ care, so what the fuck is this?

His eye visibly widens, and it must be a trick of the light of the room reflecting off his lightsaber, but it almost appears blue for a moment. “Calli?” he whispers hoarsely.

She’d promised herself she was done crying over someone who didn’t care, but the soft way he says her name hurts. “Fuck. _You_ ,” she says, glaring at him to try to convince herself that she doesn’t have tears in her eyes.

He almost seems to flinch, still clearly dumbstruck. “I-”

But she won’t let him speak, won’t give him the satisfaction of trying to distract her with his stupid honeyed words that she was dumb enough to believe the first time. “Gonna throw me out again, asshole?” she all but spits, desperately trying to keep from crying. “Once wasn’t enough for you?”

He almost looks like he’s panicking, which is so ridiculous to consider that she nearly laughs out loud for thinking it. “I- I didn’t!” he says anxiously.

She laughs, and the sound is so bitter and twisted that it hurts to even hear it from herself. “So I just imagined it then?” she snarls. “Guess I imagined a lot of things about that night, huh?”

He definitely flinches that time, looking to the side briefly, and weirdly so does Lieca. When he looks back, his eye is still almost glowing, reflecting the light of his lightsaber. “Evidently,” he says, voice tight. “Did you _also_ imagine how quickly you could betray me by turning to the Outlander? Were you working for her all along?”

She cannot believe that he is comparing whatever he’s feeling to the humiliation she felt at being _literally_ dragged naked from his side and drugged to keep her complacent. He kicked her out, he pretended she was worthwhile to get his quick fuck, he lied to her face and treated her like nothing as soon as he had what he wanted.

He’s probably just grumpy that the girl he couldn’t care less about tricked him. Grandiose sense of self-importance, all deflated by the fact she wasn’t broken by his games.

She won’t let him keep doing this, letting him think she was at all affected by it. “Of course,” she snaps, her temper rising. “Why else do you think I was there?”

It’s cruel to say, and she sees that in the minute expression change on his face, his eye definitely only molten gold now. But it’s too late to take the words back, and she curls her arms closer around herself as she looks away.

Lieca suddenly steps in front of her, and it's enough to draw her attention back with a quick startled noise. “Put the lightsaber down, Arcann,” Lieca says, her voice ringing with authority despite the weariness in her shoulders.

She peeks around Lieca to see Arcann looking at them in confusion, his now unignited lightsaber still held loosely in his hand.

But her sister is not done. “Yell at me all you want but don’t you dare hurt Calli,” she says warningly.

They are both silent for a moment, eerily staring at the same place on the side of the room, before Lieca huffs under her breath. “My apologies, but nobody actually asked you,” she snaps, sounding frustrated. “Don’t you touch her!”

Calli raises an eyebrow, peering around her sister in confusion. “Um, what’s going on?” she asks, feeling miserably uneasy.

Arcann also seems confused and frustrated, his grip on his lightsaber tightening even as he almost flinches away from them. “So much for being in control,” he snarls, seemingly at Lieca.

Lieca makes a soft sound under her breath and Calli steps forward to worriedly touch the back of her shoulder. “Liss?”

Her sister shudders as she touches her, hunching further. “Valkorion,” she hisses, half under her breath.

Calli frowns. “What?”

But apparently touching Lieca must be some weird sort of Force-catalyst bullshit, because she suddenly sees something out of the corner of her eye and barely manages to hold in her scream at seeing a pale blue visage of a much older man standing between Arcann and Lieca.

 _This_ is Valkorion? Well, no wonder Lieca’s so miserable all the time, the asshole practically _reeks_ of gross entitlement bullshit, and she can’t even sense him the same way the Force users can.

He seems aware of the fact that she can now see him, sneering as he turns towards her. “So the _precious_ younger sister is capable of seeing me after all,” he smirks. “And here I thought she was too weak to do so.”

She bristles. “Hey asshole, nobody asked you!” she snaps.

Arcann’s eye narrows before Valkorion can speak. “Sister?” he says, his voice that of a person teetering on the verge of a colossal realisation. Part horror, part furious humiliation.

Valkorion quite visibly rolls his eyes as he looks back at his son. “ _Dear_ Arcann, did you ever actually read the reports on the Outlander, or just decided to have one of your usual tantrums?” he asks, sounding utterly disgusted.

Arcann snarls at him, and Lieca makes a sudden gesture before the Emperor’s image starts wavering again, making no noise even as his mouth moves again; whatever it is that she’s done, Calli feels Lieca shudder and tremble as if she’s about to drop to her knees, and she quickly tucks her arm around her waist. Seemingly distracted, Arcann looks back at the sisters, and she’s positive she’s imagining the way his expression softens when he looks at her carefully.

But whatever moment she was hallucinating is quickly gone when his eye narrows again. “ _Callistra_ Amell,” he says suddenly, and she closes her eyes in resignation. “The Barsen’thor’s youngest sister. The _slicer_.”

The way he says it, as if it’s something dirty, makes something in her shrivel up and die with shame. She huffs out a breath, tucking her free arm around herself again. “If you already knew that, then why the fuck did you ask my name that night?” she snaps, trying not to worry about the way Lieca shivers with exhaustion at her side.

Arcann shudders as Valkorion’s image flickers and then becomes clear again, stalking forward to confront his son. “Because as always, he dismissed the smaller details for the larger threat,” Valkorion says in a booming voice that makes her skin want to break out in hives; he looms over Arcann, his expression one of absolute loathing. “This is why you were never intended to rule!”

Arcann somehow looks both furious and small, and she _hates_ herself for the surge of sympathy she has towards him. But that disappears entirely as Lieca suddenly groans in pain, and she quickly takes more of her weight as she starts to sag against her. “Liss?” she asks desperately.

Her sister’s eyes are flickering, from blue to white and back again, and she really doesn’t look well. “I… I can’t,” she says hoarsely. “He’s too strong with both of us here, I can’t shut him out.”

She quickly moves her other arm around to support her, alarmed when she almost immediately slumps against her, and glares over at where the Emperor and his father are arguing. “Stop it!” she shrieks. “Shove off, you fucking asshole!”

Valkorion _smirks_ at her and she’s pretty sure she’s never been so unsettled in her life before he looks at her sister. “So _giving_ , my dear Jedi. Always so willing to pour yourself out until there’s nothing left. So eager to leave your _darling_ sister unprotected. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Calli feels Lieca tense against her, eyes almost glowing now. “Stay away from her,” her sister snarls, and she can almost _feel_ the way Valkorion delights in her defiance. “Don’t you dare!”

Valkorion smiles. “But it would be so _easy_ ,” he drawls. “Even _Arcann_ has stronger mental defences than her. One twist, that’s all it would take.”

Lieca is trembling in her arms, her expression growing remarkably angry, and if Calli wasn’t so worried about what Lieca actually being angry about something really means, she would almost be flattered by her sister’s defence of her.

Of course, she also has a psychopathic sadistic ex-Emperor apparently singularly fixated on her in order to hurt her sister so you know, bigger things to worry about right now. This is not how she imagined today to go in the slightest.

Okay, so she’s got an exhausted and angry Lieca, a gross transparent dickhead, and an angry _living_ Emperor. All Force-users.

Clearly Valkorion needs to be disabled somehow, as he seems to be causing all the problems. Problem is, she has absolutely no clue how to disable some weird freaky Force ghost shit - her only option of ‘ _hey Lieca, actual Jedi, how about you deal with this???_ ’ has already been attempted and is clearly not working.

Her second option of _punch him in the face_ probably won’t work either because one, she _really_ doesn’t want to get any closer to the creep and two, she has a feeling it won’t work anyway. She can see _through_ him, he probably can’t be punched. Sadly.

Electrocution? He’s not standing close enough to any panels. And also, probably wouldn’t work.

So, guess there’s not really another option other than distracting him until Lieca or Arcann can deal with him. Oh joy.

She sighs angrily, adjusting her grip on Lieca. “Hey! Dickhead!”

Arcann and Valkorion both swing towards her, the latter with a look of utter delight on his face - she’s going to have nightmares about that face later. She grits her teeth and straightens her shoulders, lifting her chin defiantly. “You’re a fucking shit father, ya know?” she growls at Valkorion.

He seems vaguely surprised at her comment before he grins in clear amusement. “Oh? You want to defend my son from-”

“Shove it up your ass,” she snaps, trying to ignore both Lieca and Arcann holding their lightsabers; at least Lieca hasn’t ignited hers yet. “You don’t get to be such an abusive sack of dicks and still call him your son, okay? That’s a privilege you don’t get. You’re fucking gross.”

Arcann could not have looked more stunned if she’d hit him across the face with a chair.

Valkorion frowns, his amusement fading as his expression shifts to something remarkably murderous for such a transparent face. But she’s desperate and doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re a mass-murdering tyrant and some sort of fucking serial killer and a shitty ruler and a fucking awful family man and you know what? The fact that you were a bad dad is the worst part of that. You brought these kids into the world who were innocent of all your bullshit, and then you just, you twisted them and fucked them over until you broke them.”

At her side, Lieca isn’t leaning on her quite so heavily, and she takes that as a sign that she’s getting her energy back. She forges onwards - if there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s running her mouth when she’s got an opinion. “Your kids deserve better than you. Even the fucking evil tyrant ones! And in the end, you’ll be gone and there’ll be nothing left and nobody will even care about you ever again!” she snarls, pausing to take one last parting shot. “And both of your sons take after their mum more anyway!”

She feels rather vindicated, still clutching Lieca close, but the sheer glee on Valkorion’s face tips her off that something isn’t quite right and that she’s misstepped.

Arcann speaks before his father does and he sounds furious. “ _Both_ of his sons?” he snarls. “There is only me!”

Lieca moans in pain. “I was _really_ hoping nobody would mention Thexan,” she says quietly, visibly gritting her teeth.

Calli stares at her sister. “Really?” she snarls. “ _Maybe_ someone should’ve fucking _mentioned_ that beforehand then!”

Lieca huffs a half-laugh, slowly straightening again. “I didn’t exactly expect you to pick a fight with the Emperor,” she says, eyes staying solid blue now.

Calli chuckles weakly. “It’s like you don’t know me at all,” she replies. She meant it to be teasing, but the moment feels far heavier than she’s comfortable with.

Lieca looks suddenly impossibly sad but whatever she’s about to say is drowned out by the snarl of a lightsaber being spun behind them and they both turn to look at Arcann. He still looks furious. “Do _not_ claim to know me because of your- your _friendship_ with the pretender,” he snarls hotly. “Thexan is _dead_ and I will _not tolerate your slander_.”

Calli glares at him. “If he’s dead, who keeps sending you letters?” Thexan’s impossibly sad eyes flash through her memory and she’s suddenly angry that his own family insist on denying him like this. He’s trying, trying so hard to reach out to them and they’re just being… _petty_ and ignoring him because he’s not with them anymore?

She’s seen Lieca and Cera’s bond in action; hell, she’s relied on their bond for years as proof that Lieca was alive. Surely the twin princes had a similar bond? Surely Arcann _knew_ Thexan was alive, no matter what the official word from the palace says?

Arcann noticeably flinches before steadying himself again. “Your _Republic_ has fashioned some sort of pretender. I will not be mocked about him!”

Lieca frowns. “A pretender? Why would you think that?” she says, echoing Calli’s own thoughts.

Valkorion laughs. “Because he can’t sense his twin anymore,” he says gleefully. “That bond was severed years ago.”

Even Calli’s skin crawls with the delight he seems to be taking in his son’s misfortune. Lieca’s expression turns more sorrowful and Calli almost wants to shake her. “Severed? How?”

Valkorion chuckles. “Because my _dear_ son lost control and-”

_“Because I killed him!”_

Both sisters freeze, the declaration echoing around the room.

Arcann stands there with his lightsaber ignited, all but radiating anger, but there’s a bleak horror there in his eye too, and she can’t quite begrudge the mournful sound Lieca makes in reply.

Of _course_ her stupid saintly sister sympathises with the bastard, but, well, she can't judge too harshly. She did a helluva lot more than sympathise with him after all.

And… at least Thexan’s hesitance about the subject makes more sense now. She thought he was just being dramatic - he was clearly too upset for her to push for an explanation when he offhandedly mentioned his ‘ _death_ ’ as though it was nothing. She thought he’d been referring to the way Zakuul kept saying he was dead? Not like ‘ _oh and my own brother literally killed me’_?

Which is obviously nonsense because hey, they’re both quite obviously real? Unless the Emperor merely just _thinks_ he did it, like one of those weird Force mystic-mumbo-jumbo vision shit things.

She wouldn’t put that past Valkorion at all, he seems like enough of a dick to do that.

She turns her wrathful glare to Valkorion. “Is that what _he_ said?” she says angrily, her sister gripping her arm to stop her stepping forward. “Cause if so, he’s a fucking liar!”

Valkorion chuckles again, causing both her and Lieca to shudder. “ _I_ had nothing to do with it,” he says near-gleefully. “It was not _my_ lightsaber that struck Thexan down.”

Arcann snarls. “Stop talking about him!” he shouts, gesturing with his lightsaber before his angry golden gaze turns on Lieca, and even Calli almost recoils at the _hate_ on his face. “If you cannot control Valkorion, you are no use to me. I _will_ be rid of my wretched father!”

Valkorion smirks even as his form visibly weakens. “Oh Arcann… you will _never_ be rid of me.”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” he roars, pushing the Force at Valkorion so hard the console behind him goes flying and the wall itself visibly dents from the strain.

The former Emperor's visage suddenly fades and Arcann turns to the sisters, growling.

Calli feels the familiar whisper of a Force shield over her skin before Arcann moves his hand forward and _pulls_ , pulling Lieca into striking range.

Her sister’s purple lightsaber flares into existence as she lands, neatly meeting the golden blade of Arcann’s just in front of her face.

He did not seem to anticipate her movement, visibly shocked at something, before Lieca moves one hand off her lightsaber and _pushes_ him back too, keeping herself between him and Calli.

Arcann’s soles skid along the ground for a few moments before he regains his stance, the glow of his lightsaber reflected in his furious eye. “You… don’t… touch me!” he snarls, teeth audibly gritted underneath his mask.

Lieca twirls her lightsaber, the colour flaring brightly for a moment. “I just did,” she says grimly.

Arcann’s visible eye narrows, and as soon as he takes a step forward Lieca moves her hand in a quick gesture to use the Force to grab the console he just dismantled and throw it towards him.

Arcann snarls, rolling out of the way as the console sails past and starts to stand up again when Lieca throws a much smaller piece of machinery at him, the sharp edge glancing off his shoulder.

Calli loves her sister, but even she knows Lieca is not capable of beating Arcann by conventional means. Even at full physical health, Lieca has always been one to rely on the Force more than her physical strength, and she cannot be expected to maintain this level of defence against Arcann. This is a delaying tactic, nothing else.

Calli wipes angrily at her eyes, spinning back to the console to continue hacking past the defences trying to re-ground the Gravestone.

She cannot help Lieca in this fight - her blaster is no use when it comes to lightsabers - but this is something she can do.

Hearing Lieca’s pained grunts behind her along with the sizzling sound of lightsabers clashing keeps making her lose focus, her fingers almost shaking on the keys, and the time it takes to finally completely free the Gravestone are possibly the longest minutes of her life.

She’s still crying, unable to hold back her tears of anger and frustration and worry for her sister when she turns around, just in time to feel the flutter of another Force shield against her skin and see Arcann move his hand out again to throw Lieca across the room.

This time she doesn’t block at all and Calli realises Lieca used the precious moments she had to brace herself to shield her instead. She’s so angry at her sister that she cries out at the same time as Lieca does, just as she hits the machinery against the wall.

Lieca is wincing, all but collapsed on the ground and clearly winded, while Arcann starts moving menacingly towards her.

 _No_. No, she won’t let him hurt her sister, _hasn’t he done enough?!_

With shaking fingers she pulls her blaster off her hip, taking the chance to aim while he’s distracted.

But even though she has a _perfect_ shot… she realises she can’t take it.

_No, just fucking shoot him you coward!_

Arcann must have sensed her movement because he suddenly turns towards her, staring at her pointing her blaster at his head. Time seems to freeze as their eyes meet, dark blue glaring into pale blue, and his expression almost seems to soften as the moment drags on.

But try as she might to tell herself to just _fucking pull the trigger_ , she knows she _can’t_.

The moment is broken as Lieca desperately throws another piece of machinery in her direction, making Calli duck back from the sparks flaring from the terminal beside her as Lieca engages him again, lightsaber flaring quickly to meet his as they resume fighting.

She’s too horrified at her own utter failure to really react when Valkorion flickers again next to Arcann, murmuring something too low for her to hear. Arcann roars and smashes through Lieca’s guard, sending her flying backwards again before immediately slicing his lightsaber through the vision of his father, apparently completely irrationally because Valkorion doesn’t even seem to react.

Arcann growls and stabs out with his lightsaber again, accidentally over-balancing and stabbing into the console when his lightsaber meets nothing to block it. The console immediately flares up in retaliation, causing Arcann to jump back and shield his eyes for a moment from the sparks.

He rights himself, absolutely _fuming_ as Valkorion fades from view with another chuckle. “ _ENOUGH_!” he shouts, pushing the Force out blindly in all directions, throwing Lieca against the wall and knocking Calli over as well.

Lieca stumbles back to her feet surprisingly faster than Calli, quickly disengaging her lightsaber in time to throw both her hands in front of her to shield from the golden lightning Arcann throws at her.

Lieca’s entire stance is off and she’s almost hunched over, looking terribly small, but the Emperor doesn’t seem to care, continuing to bare down the lightning for a moment longer before breaking it off with a snarl. “I can’t _wait_ to meet all your friends,” he sneers at her sister.

Lieca’s eyes flash white for a moment and she moves faster than Calli can even see to attack Arcann again, her grip on her lightsaber still sure even with her obvious tiredness, speeding past him to attack him from behind for a moment.

Calli contemplates using the grenades on her belt to separate them, but in such close quarters she’s bound to hurt Lieca too and she absolutely can’t risk that, even as her sister desperately blocks Arcann’s strikes.

It’s only a few more moments before Lieca gets the chance to breathe and shove Arcann back instead, Calli feeling ruthless glee as he stumbles.

But it’s quickly overwhelmed by the rush of concern as Lieca all but doubles over, lightsaber deactivated again. “You can’t tempt me!” she snarls randomly, and Calli’s heart breaks as she realises Valkorion is taunting her again. “I don’t _want_ your power!”

And before Lieca can steady herself again, Arcann uses the distance to raise his hand and curl his fingers to _pull_ her towards him - and all three sisters _scream_ as he impales Lieca on his lightsaber, right through her stomach, as though she’s simply too tired and distracted by Valkorion to move her lightsaber in the way this time.

Nothing will ever compare to the pure horror Calli feels in that moment.

“Feel _that_ , Father?” Arcann growls, almost seeming to twist his lightsaber for a moment before pulling it loose and Lieca collapses on the ground without a sound.

Pure hatred washes over Calli, and before she even realises it she has her blaster raised and pointed directly at him and _this time_ her hands aren’t shaking from fear and indecision but _rage_.

“ _Get the fuck away from her you BASTARD!_ ” she shrieks, drawing his attention enough that he turns just in time for her shot to go wide and hit his shoulder instead, staring at her with his one visible eye wide.

Why was she too fucking _weak_ to take the shot earlier?

She screams as she walks forward, firing shot after shot until the blaster overheats; he remembers to get his lightsaber up after the second one sends him staggering back as well, deflecting them. She should be more concerned about them angling back towards her, but right now she doesn’t care about anything but the fact that she was too fucking stupid to save her own sister’s life.

From behind her, she can hear someone calling her name, and it’s distant, like she can hear it from underwater; Arcann looks past her shoulder, and another round of blaster bolts goes thundering past her, slamming into the overhead winches and sending the whole crane system crashing down onto the edge of the platform.

Right where Arcann is standing.

Calli falls to her knees beside her sister, sobbing, as the platform shudders violently and Arcann disappears over the edge. There are tears streaming down her face as her hands hover hopelessly over the giant circular wound in Lieca’s belly, the edges of her clothing still charred and smoking. She’s babbling, she knows she is, begging Lieca to forgive her over and over and over again as she pulls her sister onto her lap and cradles her head desperately.

The platform continues to shudder and shake, and she can still hear someone calling her name, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

“Calli!”

She raises a tear-streaked face at last, looking over her shoulder. Behind her, Koth vaults over the railing on the upper level and hurries to their side, HK and Pierce quickly following him. “Lieca! Calli! What the hell happened here?”

Calli’s eyes are full of tears and she realises she can’t tell them. She can’t tell them how monumentally she failed her sister by letting Arcann walk away to hurt her. She can’t tell them how even now a tiny part of her doesn’t regret that choice and she’s absolutely horrified. How the fuck can she justify _this_ to herself?

“Exclamation: Master is still alive! Warning: Scans indicate that her condition is severe, and requires immediate medical attention.”

Calli stares at him. Alive? But how could-  
She feels fingers against her cheek, and flinches, before she realises what it was - it was Lieca’s hand.

“Calli,” she says hoarsely, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s alright.”

Her eyes slide closed, and Calli can’t hold back the sob.

“Here, lass, lemme get her.” Pierce was kneeling at her side, trying to reach for Lieca. In response, Calli let out a panicked moan, clutching her sister to her even more tightly. “Come on now, the bucket of bolts says we gotta get her back quick smart. I can carry her, but you gotta let her go, yeah?”

“No,” she moans, holding her desperately. “No, no-”

“ _Calli_.” Koth’s voice sounded strained. “The Spar is collapsing. We gotta go now, or we’re all gonna die.”

Hiccuping, her face scrunched up with tears, she held for a moment longer, until a faint white glow began to emanate from Lieca’s belly. She cried out in surprise, and it was enough for her to loosen her grip on her sister long enough for Pierce to snatch her from her, hoisting her up into his arms and standing in one fluid movement.

“Don’t hurt her!” she screeches, surging to her feet after him. Lieca hangs in his arms like a limp rag doll, her head lolling to the side.

Koth takes hold of her, grabbing her shoulders. “Hey Calli, breathe,” he says seriously, his wide brown eyes reflecting the panic she’s feeling. “She’s gonna be okay, yeah? Let’s just get out of here.”

HK stoops to collect Lieca’s fallen lightsaber and her commlink, which is flashing urgently. He hands it over to Koth, apparently a sensible decision given Calli’s hysterical state. “Koth here,” the pilot says quickly.

Lana’s tiny figure appears instantly, the scowl on her face dropping to an expression of dread once she sees Koth, and then Calli. “ _What the hell is going on up there? Koth, why are you answering Lieca’s comm?_ ”

He winces, gesturing for Pierce to start moving. “We’ve, uh, got a bit of a situation here,” he says, ushering Calli quickly towards the lift.

_“I am aware of that! I’m getting so many panicked emergency calls from Odessen - including from Cera’s personal emergency frequency - where the hell is Lieca?”_

The visual connection drops when they pile into the lift, and Tora’s voice cuts through with a crackle of static. _“Yo, the Gravestone’s free! Get back or get left!”_

Calli is certain the lift is going to crush her, like the walls are closing in on her and stealing the oxygen out of the room. She can’t breathe, she’s whimpering and desperately trying to keep hold of Lieca’s hand, even as it hangs limply.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, over and over and over. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

_Don’t die._

“Hey, hey.” She feels a hand on her shoulder, and turns to find Koth there. He apparently ended the call while she wasn’t looking, and he pulls her around to face him, hands on both shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Your sister’ll be fine. Okay?”

From somewhere, she manages to nod, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Yeah, you okay? She’s gonna be fine.”

_She’s gonna be fine._

_Kill the Skytroopers. Get to the shuttle. Get to the Gravestone. Get Lieca to Lana. Don’t think about Arcann. Then you can collapse._

_You really fucked up this time, Amell._


	12. Recovery

It’s two days before Lieca wakes up properly again.

Calli barely remembers the rush from the Control Spar back to the Gravestone. She does remember the horrified look on Lana’s face, and the sickening crawling guilt and shame that came with it, that came from having to see the grief and disappointment on more faces. She does remember the way Geralt immediately pulled her into his arms to cry before carrying her to the medbay with Lana and Lieca, no questions asked and no implication at all that he had some idea of what had happened up there in the sky.

He stayed with her for a long time, holding her and stroking her hair while Lana and Senya desperately poured what little Force healing they both had into Lieca. She’d cried until she’d thrown up, heaving and sobbing desperately, and someone had put an IV drip into her arm at one point, although she couldn’t remember who.

Lana had eventually pushed back from the bed, eyes red with exhaustion, to declare that there was nothing else they could do other than let Lieca rest.

Apparently that colossal fuckwad in her head had been healing her too, which explained why her wound had been glowing while unconscious - even Lieca can’t concentrate like that. Plus, she’s seen enough of her sister healing that - the few times it’s been visible -, she knows her healing is more of a soft golden colour, rather than the angry bright white they had seen up in the control room.

She’s of course grateful that Lieca was being healed and didn’t, you know, _fucking die_ , but she’s still bloody _furious_ at Valkorion regardless because it’s _his damn fault_ that Lieca was hurt in the first place! If he had just fucked off when they yelled at him, he wouldn’t have goaded them to attack and maybe Arcann… maybe Arcann wouldn’t have been so mad and wouldn’t have hurt Lieca.

Maybe, maybe if she hadn’t been so stupid as to sleep with him in the first place, if she had just fucking shot the bastard when she had the chance, if she hadn’t mentioned Thexan, if she wasn’t a complete waste of space who just made everything worse… then none of this would have happened.

She had mostly calmed down by the time Lana and Senya stopped healing, still burrowed in Geralt’s jacket with Risha sitting beside her rubbing her back, when Lana turned on her and demanded to know what had happened.

She _knew_ that Lana was just feeling helpless and worried, but it didn’t stop her being defensively angry in response and all but slipping into hysteria again because she can’t explain what happened, she _can’t_.

Cera kept calling, clearly more than aware of what was going on than anyone on the ship, but she just couldn’t talk to her sister and explain how monumentally she _failed_ , and eventually she stops trying. Or, at least, someone made sure to intercept them before they reached her commlink, to try and give her a chance to calm down properly - she had her suspicions that Holiday might have been behind that, but she was too exhausted to thank her. Cera kept sending messages though, which still sit unread in her inbox; eventually she resorted to strong-arming Bowdaar into forwarding her letters, to trick Calli to read it, which almost made her laugh through her tears when she realised.

Theron hasn’t been quite brave enough to send her messages directly, but she can tell from Lana’s mutterings when she comes to check on Lieca that he’s been ringing the ship near constantly too. Which is obviously frustrating Lana, but the Sith has apparently decided to just let it slide and stop trying to push Calli for answers, which confuses her a bit but she’s still grateful.

Other than that, the two days pass fairly uneventfully - Lieca sleeping it off, Calli refusing to leave her side, Lana and Senya periodically checking on Lieca and Geralt and Risha checking up on Calli.

She’s barely been able to sleep, snatching a few minutes here and there when exhaustion gets the better of her, before panic jolts her awake again - what if Lieca needs her and she’s asleep, what if she gets worse, what if Valkorion the Emperor of Assholes tries to smother her with a pillow or _fuck_. She doesn’t understand all this Force bullshit, she just wants to take care of her sister. But apparently she must have dozed off for a bit yet again, because when she starts awake she realises it’s because Lieca made a sound, almost instinctively leaping out of her chair to Lieca’s bedside as she finally starts to open her eyes.

Calli knows she’s nearly crying again and she doesn’t even care, because she nearly watched her older sister die, and yes she’s a Jedi and families should be ignored and whatever but she still doesn’t want to actually fucking lose her sister. “Lieca?” she asks tentatively, grabbing her hand.

Lieca’s eyes slowly focus on hers, the same piercing blue foggy with pain and confusion. “Calli?” she says hoarsely.

She sniffs, trying desperately to hold onto the tears of relief. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. You gonna stay awake now?”

Lieca smiles vaguely, before wincing as she starts to move. “Yeah, I think so. How long was I out?”

Calli quickly moves her arm around her shoulders to help her sit up, adjusting the back of the bed to support her before sitting next to her on top of the sheets. “Two days,” she says, choosing to ignore how that’s the same amount of time she’s been unable to sleep.

Even that small exertion seems to have exhausted her, because her eyes are shut again; but she’s not breathing like a sleeper, and after a moment Lieca opens her eyes and turns her head on the pillow to look at her. “Are you okay?”

Calli stares at her, dismayed. She wasn’t supposed to start asking questions so quickly. “Um, I’m not the one who got fucking _stabbed_ and then just bloody walked it off, sis,” she says weakly.

Lieca gives her a look that says she’s not fooling anyone. “Calli,” she begins, before Calli cuts her off.

“I’m fine! Completely fine!”

Lieca reaches over to cup her cheek with her hand, the same way she’d touched her cheek on the Spar to promise her it wasn’t her fault. “Honey.”

Calli can’t hold it in any longer- she bursts into tears. She barely catches Lieca’s alarmed expression before she all but collapses, head in her hands while she sobs. She’s spent so much time over the last few days crying - five years or more worth of tears, bottled up and suppressed at every opportunity, the tears of a woman stretched to breaking point for so long - that she’s almost surprised she has anything left to cry.

“Hey,” Lieca says, peeling her hands away from her face and cupping her cheeks in her hand, “come on honey. I’m safe.”

“But y-you almost weren’t,” Calli says, hiccuping over the words. “And it’s all _my fault_.”

“It _wasn’t_ your fault,” Lieca says firmly, her voice catching a little as if in pain. “You were wonderful up there-”

“I hesitated, Lieca,” she says, hating herself as she says it. “I... I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hurt him- except then he hurt you and I realised what I’d done and what it had cost me and I just...” She trails off, her face crumbling as she tries to fight off a larger bout of weeping.

“Shh.” Lieca leans forward with some difficulty and rests her forehead against hers, her fingers seeking out hers and clasping her hand. “Calli.”

But she can’t stop- it’s all bubbling up out of her now, years and years of panic and fear and self loathing in one, like this was just the final catalyst to push it over the edge. “And you didn’t even hesitate, you just stood there all calm and I can’t- I’m not like that, I was so frightened, and when he hurt you I thought- it was because of me, I thought you’d died because of me and I- I-”

She bursts into heaving sobs, fighting to breathe; she feels Lieca’s arms come around her and for a moment she lets her hold her, weeping against her sister’s shoulder and despising every single part of herself. After a short while her common sense kicks back in and she feebly tries to pull herself away. “You’re hurt,” she slurs, sniffing disgustingly.

Lieca just chuckles hoarsely. “Perhaps,” she says. “But I’m still your sister. I still want to take care of you.”

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you right now, Liss.”

Lieca waves a hand faintly. “Not much anyone can do right now but give it time,” she says, making a grateful noise as Calli helps her settle back against the pillow. Her eyes flutter closed. “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

“ _No_ ,” Calli says quickly, and far too defensively.

“It’s alright, you know,” Lieca says. “Sometimes we do foolish things when we’re in love.”

“I’m not in _love_ with him,” she says in horror, all but choking on the words.

“Not love then.” She swallows, more of a grimace, and Calli wipes her face on the back of her sleeve and then helps her to sit up a little straighter to take a drink. It’s more difficult than it probably should be, and she tries not to overthink that, or worry about her sister recovering this much only to fade away later. Lieca sighs as she lays back again. “But sometimes, we get twisted up around people, and we don’t necessarily mean to or even want to, and that’s okay, Calli.”

Calli sets the glass back down on the side table with more force than is necessary. “I am not twisted up around Arca- the _Emperor_ ,” she says, correcting herself at the last minute. She won’t say his fucking name. “He’s an asshole, and a tyrant, and a _murderer_. There’s _nothing_ there worth losing sleep over.”

“And yet you have, honey.”

She closes her own eyes. “You have only just come back from the brink of death, we absolutely should not be having this conversation right now.”

Lieca sighs softly. “You know, I just want you to know that I’m not angry at you, Calli. I understand what it’s like.”

For some reason, even though it’s supposed to be a comfort, it only sours her stomach. “I really don’t think you do, Liss,” she says quietly.

“When I got involved with Felix-”

“Oh, for-” She cuts herself off with some difficulty, her eyes burning. “Lieca, that’s not even _remotely_ the same thing. You fucked around with a nice boy and broke his heart and both of you moved on because you’re grownups, and you got a kid out of the deal, and you’re still mostly polite to each other. I sold myself out to the fucking son of the galaxy’s greatest monster and then just stood there while he tried to kill you.” Her hands are shaking, and she tucks them around herself. “I nearly ruined everything all over again, and my libido would’ve had a death count.”

She isn’t meaning for it to be funny, but Lieca chuckles all the same. “Libido with a death count,” she muses. “Well, I’m sure there are sith who could say the same.”

“That’s not funny, Liss.”

“And neither is blaming yourself for the actions of another,” she says, turning to face her with solemn- if pain-filled- eyes. “Arcann chose to pursue us, just as he chose to have his troops attack the citizens of Asylum, and just as he chose to fight me and deliberately hurt me. His choices are not your responsibility.”

Calli sniffs, wiping her face. “I could’ve chosen to shoot him right in his smug fucking face right at the start, then none of this would’ve happened.”

“I got the impression you liked his face.”

She closes her eyes. “I don’t,” she lies. “And you really should sleep more.”

Lieca breathes out slowly, clearly exhausted. “I reached out to him,” she says quietly. “On Asylum, when I went to see the Scions. We talked, and I feel- I think he’s not the man he wants the galaxy to think he is. I think, given time, that he might come back to the light, like Senya and his brother.”

Calli visibly sneers. “Sure, and choosing to just brutally stab you is totally a good thing to do,” she says, hiccuping on the ‘ _stab_ ’.

Lieca winces. “It was going well until...” she hesitates, continuing at a whisper. “Until Valkorion showed up, that first time. He... he shouldn’t be able to talk to other people. I thought it was just me, and I can ignore him but... when I was talking to Arcann, he showed up. And started saying these awful things and Arcann reacted and I realised he could hear him and I just…” She then shudders, eyes still closed. “I’m practicing shutting him out, but it’s _exhausting_. He’s quiet right now, thankfully - but pretty damn smug that I’m only alive because he intervened. But I think it exhausted his power a bit, thank the Force.”

Calli sniffs. “Well, maybe if his Royal Pompous Asshole-ness hadn’t interrupted constantly you wouldn’t have needed his help,” she says, before her brain can catch up.

But Lieca laughs, and she feels the bands around her heart loosen a bit. “Maybe,” she agrees, seeming almost giddy for a moment. “Personally I’ll take anything at this point. Nice to have someone agreeing I wasn’t completely stupid. I’m sure I’ll be hearing about this one for a long time.”

Calli winces. “Um, I don’t know if Odessen knows - Lana didn’t seem to want to pass on that you were hurt.”

Lieca sighs. “They’ll already know,” she says quietly. “The Force bond between Cera and I - she would have felt the strike, luckily only briefly. She’ll know. And depending on who was nearby, they’ll know too. I just… I hope it wasn’t Theron or Flissa. They seem worried enough.”

Shit, she didn’t even _think_ about Flissa, she’s a terrible fucking aunt and a useless person and-

“Hey, Calli, breathe,” her sister says suddenly, catching her face in her hand again. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll be fine and they’ll see that, and everything will be okay.”

She shudders as Lieca touches her, still feeling like a wretch. “They... they keep calling. They want to know what happened,” she says quietly. “But... but I just… I _can’t_ Liss.”

Lieca nods. “It’s fine honey. I’ll talk to them, and nobody has to know the finer details. We’ll be alright.”

Calli wants to pull away because she doesn’t deserve this sympathy, but Lieca’s grip on her is surprisingly strong and she doesn’t let her move. They sit in silence, as if allowing Lieca’s promise to settle between them and intensify, and she can’t for the life of her understand why Lieca would offer her such a promise in the first place. Everything that happened up there, everything she did just made things worse, and that’s a fact. Lieca has nothing to gain from hiding her fuckups for her, but... she’s grateful she is.

After a few moments Lieca lets her go, wincing as she resettles. “I’m sorry I’m stressing you out. Again. Still,” she says quietly, eyes closed.

Calli stares at her. “What? Liss, this isn’t your fault at all!”

Lieca cracks open one eye. “Ah. So it wasn’t me that offered to surrender, that kept trying to give him a way out, that refused to take every chance I had to end this permanently? Good to know.”

It’s as if she knows exactly what is going on in her head and is trying to counter it. “What?”

Lieca sighs. “Arcann is a skilled soldier,” she says firmly. “But he has never been taught to control his emotions and his instincts at the same time. He was so angry… he’s never been taught to control his rage like Jezhara, or Lana and Jahlia. It makes him unpredictable, but also less controlled. He lowered his guard numerous times in that fight, and made many mistakes... when his heart overrules his head, he over-extends himself.”

Calli’s own heart flutters and she completely ignores the traitorous feeling. “Funny way of describing rage,” she says quietly.

Lieca gives her a look that says she’s not fooling anyone. “Uh-huh. That’s not all and you know it.”

Calli glares. “ _Don’t_ ,” she snaps. He doesn’t care, he _doesn’t_ , he was just upset his stupid one night stand had the audacity to defy him, he doesn’t… the look in his eye, in his _blue_ eye, on his stupid fucking face, it _doesn’t matter._

He _killed her sister_. He doesn’t _deserve_ any sympathy.

Lieca hums under her breath. “Fine,” she says tiredly, shifting slightly to make herself more comfortable. “Oh, while I’m curious, did you ever find out what your datapad was tracking? I don’t imagine you had any way of getting a tracker on Arcann, so I can’t work out what it was.”

Calli stares at her. “What?”

“Your datapad alerts - they started pinging while we were in the control room, and the only one there besides us was Arcann. I know you said it was malfunctioning - but what did it think it was tracking?”

She stares at her sister blankly before rummaging in her pocket for her datapad. “I had forgotten about it,” she says quietly. Lieca seems amused and she glares at her. “Kinda distracted with you, you know, nearly _dying_ ,” she sniffs.

Lieca grips her hand again, tone soothing. “It’s fine hun,” she says softly. “But I promise I’ll be alright now. I just need rest. It helps that Valkorion seems to be drained from keeping me alive until the others helped - at least he’s quiet now. Small blessings.”

Calli sniffs again, wiping at her nose quickly with her sleeve before switching on her datapad and searching through her alerts.

It doesn’t take long to locate the alarm that had been going off on Asylum and when she recognises the source her heart utterly _stops_.

She must have made some noise or tensed somehow because Lieca frowns. “Calli? Honey, is everything okay?”

She stares at her datapad, not quite processing what she’s reading. “It’s… it’s my ring. The one from the party. It got left behind and I thought… I thought one of the servants had it? I figured someone pocketed it to sell it or something, not...”

Lieca’s tone is decidedly too casual for her liking. “So… Arcann has your ring? That’s… _interesting_.”

She’s still staring. “But… but why would he keep it? Why would… why would he have it on him? Why bring it all the way here? Why not just pick it up and leave it at home?”

Lieca is apparently choosing dignified silence as an answer, giving her more time to completely freak out because _why would he keep her ring._

 _No_.

She stands up suddenly, too agitated to remain sitting. “Why?” she demands. “He- he threw me out! He doesn’t get to keep my ring!”

Lieca frowns. “What? You never said that. Hmm, I should’ve smacked him harder…”

She laughs angrily, the sound broken. “Yeah, he had his fucking people drag me away and threw me out in the middle of the night like some cheap whore! _Why would he keep my ring?_ ”

Lieca blinks. “Maybe he regrets…?” she asks carefully.

Calli curses and starts to pace. He- he isn't allowed to regret it! No!

Behind her, Lieca sighs. “Alright, not a good topic for right now, so let’s try something else. Why do you think his eye turned blue when he saw you?”

She pauses. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she lies, ignoring Thexan’s sad voice in her head.

Lieca goes quiet for a long moment and when she turns back hesitantly, her sister’s eyes are closed. “I’m sorry,” the Jedi says softly. “It’s rude to pry, and everything is already such a mess.”

Calli sniffs, wiping at her eyes at what’s definitely _not_ tears. “You can say that again,” she says quietly.

Lieca opens her eyes again, smiling softly. “I’m sorry.”

Calli looks away. “Ah, not the part I meant Liss.”

Lieca shrugs. “True, but I mean it all the same. Is my holocom nearby?”

She frowns, searching around the room and locating it on one of the nearby tables. “Looks like it. What’s up?”

Lieca smiles indulgently, gesturing for Calli to help her carefully sit up again. “Cera keeps prodding at me, and she’s getting loud,” she says lightly, clearly amused. “If she actually physically calls, I better pick up.”

Right. Weird-ass Force shit business. Creepy twin telepathy she is absolutely not jealous of in the slightest. “She called Bowdaar to get to me,” she says quietly. “I think she’s been calling most of the last two days.”

Lieca looks at her sympathetically as though somehow well aware of what she’s thinking. “How much longer is it to Odessen?”

As though summoned by the question, Lana suddenly appears in the doorway, looking furious. “Not long enough!” she fumes. “How could you be so _reckless_!”

Lieca raises an eyebrow at the Sith Lord, who comes storming over to stand by her bedside, arms folded. “Hi Lana?” she says weakly.

If Lana was a teapot, steam would be coming out of her ears right now. “Don’t you ‘ _hi Lana_ ’ me! We have been _absolutely worried sick_ and how _dare_ you even consider for a moment that surrender was an option, and then as if that wasn’t bad enough, to go on and fight _Arcann_ while you’re still recovering from carbonite, and then just l _ie there, unconscious_ , for _days_ and-”

Lieca waves frantically and Lana slumps down in the chair beside the bed, the one Calli had been occupying on and off for the last few days. “Lana! Lana, I’m okay.”

Lana is still fuming, but allows Lieca to catch her hand. “You are _not_ okay, you have been bloody _stabbed_ and I just… I am so _angry_ with you right now. You’ve aged me at least ten years, you know that right? Jez will be so furious.”

Lieca smiles, moving her other hand to brush a lock of hair from Lana’s forehead. “Now now, don’t be so dramatic. I see no gray hairs, despite your constant claims I give them to you. You shall be fine and Jez will be delighted to see you again.”

Lana huffs and grips her hand tighter. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lieca nods. “I will be,” she says softly, as Geralt appears in the doorway too.

“Hey Calli, just wanted to say we’d be landing soon- _Lieca_! You’re awake!”

“Yes, I-”

The Jedi is cut off almost immediately by Geralt swooping down on her, brushing Lana aside to give her a big kiss. “Thank _fuck_ , sweetheart, you really had us worried!” he says earnestly as he moves back, grinning wide.

She seems a little flustered by the attention, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. “Oh, um, thank you Geralt. I’m… sorry?”

He smiles, moving his arm out to wrap around Calli’s shoulders and kiss the top of her head. “You should be. I think Holiday’s about to have a nervous breakdown from putting off so many calls and filtering so much comm traffic.”

Lieca winces and Calli snuggles further into Geralt’s side, burying her face in the familiar scent of his worn leather jacket. “I apologise,” her sister says quietly, wincing again as Lana moves her hands over her stomach and starts healing.

Lana is already grumbling. “Why did our actual healer have to be the one who was injured, you know I have no talent for this.”

Lieca clucks sympathetically. “You're doing fine,” she murmurs, voice strained. “I’ve been trying to correct it, but I’m a little tired.”

Lana glares at her but doesn’t stop, Geralt squeezing Calli tighter as Lieca cries out. “Just about another half hour or so babe, then we’ll be home,” he says softly. “Odessen already has a team on standby, she’ll be okay.”

Lieca looks up, distracted from instinctively trying to correct Lana’s technique. “Hmm?”

Geralt smirks. “That means a hover-stretcher sweetheart, don’t even think about walking this off.”

She glares at him, her expression the mirror of Calli’s own brand of stubbornness, but Geralt as usual ignores the warning. “No buts, darling, you’re in the stretcher or else... don’t make me come up with something, it’s far too difficult.”

Lieca pouts at him and he grins, giving her a mock salute before heading back to the cockpit to co-pilot the landing with Koth.

 

* * *

 

Lana finally steps back from Lieca’s bedside as they pull into base, moving to the door to go and greet her wife. Calli helps her to sit up a bit, propped up by all the pillows they could find on the ship, and steps back to awkwardly shuffle her weight between her feet, all but nervously wringing her hands as she watches the door. She aches to reach out to her again, to find a way to convey to her that she isn’t angry at her, that she doesn’t blame her for what happened, but she can tell she’s already pushed at Calli’s limits enough for today.

But more than that, they’ve not got the time to sit and talk about what happened on Asylum, not when her long overdue homecoming is finally upon her. Lieca can feel the insistent pull of Cera’s presence long before the ship comes to a stop, barely repressing her sob at the feeling of her family standing inside the docking bay waiting for them. She wants to run to find them but she knows she has to wait - as much as she lies and says she’s fine, she knows she can’t push this.

Her own healing abilities are slowly starting to kick in, and whenever she has a moment left unsupervised she does her best to carefully work on repairing the damage. Valkorion is a truly terrible healer, his powers far too blunt and far too vast for the delicate work required with Force healing, and although she might be alive, it’s going to be some time before she’s back to full health.

But if her friends and loved ones are going to keep looking at her all sad and miserable - especially when she knows it’s entirely her fault - well, she knows how to put on a brave face for people. It was over a decade ago now, shielding all those Jedi during the psychic plague, but she remembers how to go about her day regardless of the screaming of her body.

Of course, Cera never lets her push herself for too long, and there simply hasn’t been time for her to distract her current team with soft smiles and sweet words, so odds are that she will be immobile for a while yet.

Speaking of Cera, it doesn’t seem like she wanted to even wait for the boarding ramp to be settled.

Calli shrinks back as the door flies open, and the next thing Lieca knows is being all but crash tackled on the bed by her impossibly tall and beautiful and amazing daughter. She bursts into tears instantly, crying and laughing and wrapping her arms around her so tightly that Flissa chokes back a gasp.

It _hurts_ to move this much, but she wouldn’t miss this feeling for the world.

Flissa is here, alive, _safe_ and Valkorion couldn’t hurt her and she’s beautiful and here and she can’t stop crying, but she’s so happy it doesn’t matter.

After what could have been hours but still doesn’t feel long enough, she winces and moves back a little bit, still clutching Flissa close and giggling as Flissa immediately tries to wipe her tears away, her father’s sweet smile in miniature. “Love you Mama,” she says shyly.

Lieca almost starts crying again, kissing the top of her head. “Love you too baby,” she says, tightening her arms around her for a moment. “My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

Her entire body relaxes as she feels Cera’s soothing presence shine next to her, turning to see her twin standing there, practically glowing with happiness at seeing her safe.

Their eyes meet for only a few moments before Lieca bursts into tears again and Cera somehow manages to climb into the hug too, fingers carefully avoiding the injuries Lieca can’t hide from her. They both start babbling in sheer relief at _finally_ being close to each other again, especially without Valkorion between them, and no longer having to communicate mostly through the Force. Lieca gleefully treasures the moment as they wind the Force around each other with barely a thought, hugging each other close.

It’s strange to see physical proof of the years separating them now - the laugh lines at Cera’s eyes are more pronounced, her figure less defined as she devotes more time to motherhood and administration over frontline combat. Her hair is longer too, neatly pinned out of her face, but her eyes are still the same and the mischief in them is still obvious.

It’s the mischief that reminds her of her baby sister and it kills her to see the soft sad look in Calli’s eyes as she watches them. She loves Calli, of _course_ she does, but she knows Calli often feels… left out from the two of them. She and Cera grew up together, they travelled together, they have a Force bond that keeps them together even when they are apart - although they love and adore Calli, all three of them have struggled in the past to maintain that connection that they all want.

A soft cough brings her attention to the only other person in the room, Cera’s husband Doc. Most people would probably be a little bit wary of getting involved with so many clearly emotional women but Doc fearlessly steps forward and wraps his arms around them all, clutching tighter to Cera. “Welcome home sis,” he says softly, ruffling Flissa’s hair as he buries his own suspiciously bright eyes in Cera’s neck for a moment, before stepping back and grinning at Calli who grudgingly accepts his hug.

A soft roar at the door notifies Lieca who else followed the rest of her family onto the ship and Calli’s gleeful shriek is quickly muffled in soft brown fur as Bowdaar gives her a huge hug, all but spinning her through the air while Doc steps back, feigning annoyance but smiling all the same.

Cera reluctantly shifts back, eyes shining. “It’s so good to see you,” she says softly, gently stroking her cheek while Flissa snuggles more determinedly into her side on the bed, carefully avoiding her injuries. “Just be careful there, Fliss honey.”

Lieca chuckles wearily, smoothing her daughter’s hair back to kiss her forehead again. “How many people did you summon for the parade?” she asks wryly, well aware of the topic her sister is avoiding.

Cera grins awkwardly, amusingly pulling the same face as her husband as he walks up behind her, arms around her waist and chin resting on her shoulder. “Couple dozen. You know how it is, gatecrashers and whatnot. Everyone always wants a show.”

Lieca sighs, watching with a small amount of envy as Cera moves her hand up to gently stroke Doc’s cheek. “I had hoped to avoid that straight away,” she says quietly, smiling at Flissa.

Flissa wrinkles her nose. “It’s not a _parade_ Aunty,” she says crossly. “People just want to see Mama!”

Cera smiles indulgently. “Of course, sweetheart. We were just being silly.”

Lieca winces as her stomach chooses that moment to remember how much pain it's in, and before she can even move Cera has stepped forward to place her hands over her stomach to focus the Force towards healing.

She sucks in a sharp breath as Flissa’s hands tentatively move on top of her twin’s, the gentle press of her daughter’s tiny Force healing enough to make her start crying again. “You’re learning to heal sweetie?”

Flissa nods, her face scrunched up in concentration. “Miss Ona’la teaches me,” she says primly. “She says… she says you taught her, so now she can teach me.”

Okay, she can totally keep it together; she’s absolutely not going to cry anymore, it’s fine-

Flissa gently touches her cheek. “Does that make you sad, Mama?” she asks quietly, looking a little devastated.

Lieca shakes her head, gripping Cera’s fingers tight on her stomach. “No no darling, it makes me happy. I’m…I’m glad you had someone else to teach you, someone that I love. I’m so proud of you.”

Flissa’s smile lights up the room, and Bowdaar growls low to draw their attention, having left Calli’s side to bring in the hover stretcher.

She must have pulled a face because Cera tuts and pokes her shoulder. “None of that you, you know it’s necessary. Don’t make me tell everyone what you’re up to.”

Flissa’s eyebrows narrow in confusion and Lieca sighs, shifting enough to kiss her head again. “Yes sis,” she says grumpily.

Bowdaar steps closer, looking vaguely apologetic, and Flissa scrambles out of the way as the Wookiee leans over to gently pick her up to move her to the hover stretcher. Doc steps closer to run his scanner over her, muttering medical jargon to himself that she would usually understand except he seems to be skipping half of the syllables.

Bowdaar moves back to hug Calli, whose eyes are still quite red as she snuggles into his side, and Flissa moves next to her uncle to grip her hand again. “Are you alright Mama?” she asks, her little face almost painfully solemn.

Lieca sighs, pressing her other hand lightly against her wound. “Yes darling, I’ll be fine,” she says softly.

Cera sympathetically squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t worry, it won’t take long,” she says apologetically. “What do you think, hun?”

Doc clucks his tongue at them both, eyes on the readings on his datapad. “You know what I think about your Force healing,” he murmurs distractedly, frowning.

Cera catches her attention before dramatically rolling her eyes, and Doc sighs. “Try not to take too long to get to her room - I’ll be waiting,” he continues, kissing Cera’s forehead and squeezing Flissa’s shoulder before he leaves.

Lieca sighs. “Let’s get on with it. Anyone in particular I need to speak to or just the solemn walking to confirm I’m here?”

Cera shoots her a look. “What do you think?” her twin says dryly. “Come on everyone. Calli, did you want to stay here? I don’t think we all need to go out and get stared at by everyone.”

Their baby sister blinks in confusion at her and it’s Bowdaar’s quiet rumblings that answer them. “Uh, sure, I guess,” she says uncertainly.

Her heart aches for Calli, but she also knows that she’s still quite fragile and really doesn’t need the added stress of people looking to her as well right now. Force preserve her, she knows she can trust Cera with the news of what happened, and the reason for Calli’s crisis, but she doesn’t know yet whether it’s right to expose her to further scrutiny. Did Calli need secrecy, or support?

It doesn’t matter overly, because Cera will be able to tell now that they’re in close proximity to one another. They can’t exactly read one another’s minds, but sometimes ideas and concepts overflow into their bond without them meaning to. One way or another, Cera is going to know about Calli and Arcann, and Lieca doesn’t know quite what to do with that knowledge.

There’s only a few mishaps with the stretcher getting to the front of the ship, both Cera and Flissa quickly learning the best way to steer it with Holiday’s gentle guidance. Flissa helps her to shift the pillows to more comfortably sit partially up just as they reach the boarding ramp.

The commotion outside is hard to ignore and both sisters square their shoulders before moving out into the sunlight.

But all Lieca can see is Theron standing anxiously at the bottom of the ramp, and her heart wells up so fast that she can’t help but cry again, unable to focus on anyone else who might be nearby.

Theron smiles tremulously at the stretcher as they move closer to him, visibly swallowing at the sight of her. His golden eyes are also welling up with tears, and as though he doesn’t trust himself to speak he reaches out to touch the hand that Flissa isn’t holding.

She immediately tangles their fingers together and the way he relaxes would almost be comical if it didn’t make her want to cry harder.

Cera’s vaguely apologetic murmurings interrupt the moment and Theron jumps back as if struck by lightning, and she ignores the gleeful grin of her daughter on her other side.

Spread out below her is a crowd of people, far more than the ‘couple dozen’ Cera had vaguely promised; there’s at least two hundred people of all species assembled at the end of the ramp, standing beneath the arching dome of what is apparently their headquarters, embedded in the side of the mountain. She can see Republic insignia and the sort of flamboyant fashion that can only ever belong to a Sith; she can see the stark black and white and gold of Zakuulans and the massive bulk of at least one Hutt at the back of the crowd.

At her appearance, the murmuring of the crowd turns into a rumble, and then breaks into a cheer, loud applause echoing up and down the canyon with the sounds of excited yelling. An Alliance, Lana had called it, come together from all walks of life and all allegiances to bring peace back to a broken galaxy.

She had her daughter beside her, and Theron there too, as if they had never been separated.

She had her sisters back.

She was home.


	13. Regrets

It’s two days before Arcann can sleep again.

Surprisingly enough, it is not the fault of his injuries for once, despite the ferocity of his battle against the Outlander, and the near fatal plummet from the Control Spar that would have seen even most other Force-users dead. Had he not been so deliriously jumped up on adrenalin and rage at the time of his fall, it was possible even he might not have survived; as it was, the sickening lurch in his stomach at Calli’s hysterical cry of grief had snapped him out of the frenzy just before he’d gone over the edge, and the plummet to the main platform of the station had not been an opportunity for his life to flash before his eyes so much as it was for her heartbroken, devastated expression to linger in front of him as if it was burned onto the back of his eyelids.

He’d shattered the duracrete around him in a vast circle as he’d landed, sending crates and scaffolding flying from the shock wave. Above him, the Control Spar had slowly crumbled, and he’d slowly fallen to his knees, head spinning and legs aching from the impact, his stomach threatening to rebel as the immensity of what had just happened sinks in.

The station was burning, crumbling; sirens were wailing like the screams of the dead, and the sky above him was full of ships, _his_ ships, _he’d_ done this-

_What had he done?_

He barely remembers the blurred stumble back to the docks, and returned to his flagship to find Vaylin pacing around like a rabid mawvorr, hissing expletives and cursing their mother and generally snarling at anyone who came too close.

He does remember the look on her face when he mumbled something about the Outlander escaping, the pitying look of utter disgust as she realised his failure, his weakness.

And he does remember the look on his _own_ face, in his mirror after he rushed to his private rooms on the flagship, desperately trying to breathe but convinced he was suffocating anyway, and ended up tearing the mask off in a panic to throw up in the refresher sink.

Catching his own reflection in the glass as he attempts to rinse his mouth out, golden eyes and horrific scars and all, was almost enough to make him ill again, but he forced it down through sheer willpower, clutching hard to the edges of the sink as his stomach heaves and his head spins.

He never _used_ to need to take the mask off- what the hell _is_ this?

At least without the mask, it takes his injured eye a few moments to focus on anything, no longer supported by the programs in the mask that compensate for his partial blindness. Something that would normally shame him, a reminder of his numerous weaknesses, but for once was a blessed relief for the few seconds of fogginess it granted him before his features were fully clear in the mirror.

Seeing his ruined face is enough to make him understand his father’s utter disdain for him, because what use is he to anyone like this? A maimed incompetent, never fast enough and never smart enough and never _good_ enough. It marks him for what he really is, the complete failure that he has been in the past, a tangible reason for the disgust in his father’s eyes whenever he looked at him.

He pushes off the sink with a snarl, not bothering to clean any of his injuries or properly clear the sour taste from the back of his throat before stalking out into the main room, pacing angrily while he tries to just _focus_. At some point, someone had clearly given the command to return to Zakuul, because the view outside his windows is the swirling blue of hyperspace, and he should be upset that someone other than him is giving orders and that people are _taking_ orders from someone other than him, but he can’t concentrate on any of that right now.

_Valkorion_.

Father is alive, he was _there_ , he _is_ in the Outlander’s head - he wasn’t just making it up, he wasn’t being delusional and paranoid and it wasn’t just another hallucination like the ones that torment him constantly whenever he can’t sleep.

Father is alive and he still _hates_ him and... and honestly, he completely understands, because what good is he?

The supposed Immortal Emperor of the galaxy, cringing away from a vision of his own father like a frightened child. He is better than this and yet he just, he can’t do anything other than shudder in horror at the memory.

He still can’t breathe.

His armour feels too tight and his chest is aching and even his stomach hurts- which is a little strange, but he supposes it must be a combination of stress and the aftermath of vomiting. But he can’t _focus_ and he’s starting to feel trapped, suffocated; the terror in his veins is growing at the imagined constriction on his chest and after a half a minute of thin breathing that doesn’t seem to let any air into his lungs, he tears his shirt half off in a panic, too impatient to slowly manoeuvre the shoulder guard away from his ruined arm to allow him to pull it off normally.

He sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, desperately trying to _breathe_ and trying to ignore the sting of his scars under his fingers.

The mask _never_ used to come off; even taking if off for the brief rehabilitative medical procedures he received used to make him feel ill and uncertain, never safe until the mask was back on. But lately, ever since _that_ night, the mask feels too restricting and he has to keep taking it off to breathe.

His ruined eye and ear are slowly getting used to not relying on the mask so much too - he notices now that it takes less time for his damaged eye to focus than it used to before, that the faint ringing in his ear settles to more manageable levels far quicker than it once did. Neither of them were by any means healed, but the fact that he could use them without the mask... that had to count for something, right? A sign of his recovery, his improvements?

But it’s just more reminders of his failures, more reminders of how worthless he is because of his mistakes and his stupidity and his damn father looming over him like a spectre of hate and mockery and disapproval.

They _knew_ Valkorion wasn’t really gone. He and Vaylin had awkwardly discussed it over the years, whispering to each other in the dead of night on the rare occasions they crept into each other’s room for comfort and company. But the knowledge that it was _real_ , that Father was definitely still alive and active and knew him so well and-

His stomach suddenly heaves again, but almost instantly settles too and he has no time to wonder why over the rush of gratefulness at the feeling. His head feels jumbled enough as it is, but for a brief moment before his brain shies away from the idea in a panic, he thinks it almost feels like an injury rather than an upset stomach - like the injuries he had caused Thexan and Lie- the _Outlander_.

He almost wants to feel relief that the Outlander is gone and Valkorion didn’t… _jump_ to him or whatever his father planned. Except that part of him _knows_ she didn’t die, he can _feel_ it, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge _how_ he knows that she’s alive.

Because she _terrifies_ him. Not because of the presence of his father, or her Force abilities, or her passable combat techniques. No, she terrifies him because she _reached out to him and he has no idea why_.

He read every single report on her that he could find over the five years, he knew _everything_ about her. Her daughter, her lovers, her mentors, her enemies - every single person that she helped and fought for and defended and it just… he never really understood _why_ she did it all. Her old master was literally under the thrall of the dreaded Sith Emperor himself, the same Sith Emperor who had tortured her twin sister for over half a year, and yet she still saved him? Put herself and her team on the line out of some misguided sense of _compassion_ for a man who might never have even existed as far as she was aware?

It completely baffles him, so outside his realm of experience that he thought it had to be some sort of manipulation. Some sort of trick, to gain their trust and exploit them later, ignoring the way she seemed genuinely nice and polite when they met all those years ago. The only people who had ever been nice to him had been Thexan and his mother, and occasionally Vaylin- but Thexan is dead and his mother had abandoned him years ago, only to join forces with the Outlander against him, and Vaylin’s interpretation of sisterly love often comes barbed and hurtful. People aren’t... people don’t just act _nice_ for no reason.

And yet, seeing her again, face to face, still sweet-natured and kind and apparently utterly determined not to fight him is just… he doesn’t know how to _deal_ with that! Speaking to him as if he wasn’t the villain of the piece, as if she considered him an old acquaintance she hadn’t seen in years, as if they were _friends_. Defending him to his father as though it was nothing, angrily calling Valkorion a terrible person and stepping metaphorically between them with no concern for her own safety, it just…

_It makes no sense._

She was the _enemy_ , she was not supposed to try to _help_ him. She was supposed to despise him, fight him, not... _defend_ him.

He- he attacked her, he betrayed her, he hurt her. They had barely known each other for more than ten minutes before he betrayed her to his father. And she _knew_ that, she fucking _said_ it to his face.

He betrayed her, he froze her in carbonite, he spent most of the last five years trying to destroy her family and her friends and her people and all memory of her and she just... _why was she still trying to help him?_

It had to be a trap. There was no other explanation for why she would act as though she was stepping between him and his father, like he was worth saving, like he was worth fighting for after all the pain and all the death and all the misery he had caused. He wasn’t worth it. He would not fall for another of the Alliance’s traps.

Especially considering how easily he fell into the first one, stupid enough to still be affected weeks later by the girl they used to deceive him, still thinking of the blue of Calli’s eyes when she spoke to him like an _equal_ , like a _person_.

Like she saw someone there who was actually worth seeing.

Even now, knowing exactly who Calli really was - gods, the memory of her from the tower, so defiant and sad and angry and so so beautiful - she still takes his breath away and he just... he _can’t_.

He slides from the side of the bed to the floor, clutching his head as though physically trying to force the thoughts back inside as he desperately swallows down the sickening feeling in his stomach.

He is _better_ than this. He won’t be undone by some- some girl, who thinks she can waltz in here and, and _seduce_ him into believing what she wanted him to believe. He won’t let her think for a moment that it worked, that he ever wanted more than one night with her, no matter how foolish or desperate that wish.

He just wanted to understand and now, well, now he understands fucking plenty.

Calli is the Outlander’s family, her blue eyes the spitting image of her sister’s. The younger sister he read about years ago and dismissed, not realising the threat she posed. And she _tricked_ him, made him believe she actually wanted him and actually saw him like no one ever had and then ran away without a backwards glance to the people she actually cared about.

He presses against his temples harder, breath hitching in what was definitely _not_ a sob, only rocking for a moment before settling.

Gods above, he put _so much effort_ into finding her and clearly she was just laughing at him the entire time; evading his people like it was a game, hiding from him to save herself and not her pride.

His stomach _hurts_ and this time the pain does make him gasp aloud, irrationally pressing against a non-existent wound because of course it’s all in his fucking head, what else is new?

He focuses on the torn threads of his shirt, trying to get his racing thoughts under control and ignore the screaming of his heart- his _mind_. He’s just stressed, and tired, and in pain, and he needs to eat something.

But thinking about how tired and pained he is makes him remember his aching shoulder, and he reaches his hand up to rub the shoulder guard absently.

She didn’t care, she _didn’t_ , she _shot_ him, she screamed at him, she clearly _hated_ him.

And yet…

_Aivela_ , the look on her face when she saw him again. The tears in her eyes, the absolute misery as she screamed at him, as though it hadn’t just been a game to her as well. As though she had been hurt by his people’s actions, as though she wanted to _stay_.

He squashes that tiny hope down fast - he does not deserve to even _think_ that. She was clearly just upset that her chance to steal more of his information was lost.

But... despite her obvious hurt and anger, she’d still stepped between him and his father. Holding her sister in her arms, she’d screamed at his father about how awful he was, how much she hated him and how much his family deserved better, about how much better _Arcann_ deserved.

She’d defended him to his father, and called Valkorion a monster, not him. She said he wasn’t-

Wait. That was Lieca. Lieca had told him he wasn’t a monster. Now even his own fucking memory is playing tricks on him.

Her sister was the one who called Valkorion monstrous. And if he lives in Lieca’s head…. well she’d certainly know.

But it _doesn’t matter_ how much Calli defended him, because in the end, she still chose her sister and he still chose his fury over the chance at alliance. She still obviously hated him, and for good reason now. It makes him feel a thousand times worse to remember the way she’d looked at him: the tears streaming from her eyes, the way she’d _screamed_ as if her heart was breaking when he finally got his revenge against his father.

He knows he’ll never forget the look on her face when she shot him, the knock to his shoulder nothing compared to the pain in her eyes, in her voice. He made her cry, made her fear him, made her fight him with everything she had out of sheer desperate _rage_ and he _hates_ himself for that.

Her ring is burning a hole in his pocket and he barely suppresses the urge to throw it across the room, mostly helped by the fact he can’t move his hands away from his head, desperately trying to keep the thoughts inside.

_What had he done?_

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For two whole days, he can’t make himself leave his quarters; he presumes that Vaylin has taken charge of things, and he knows he should be better than this wreck of a human being, but he... _can’t_. She stops trying to get his attention after the first evening, and the servants don’t speak or make eye contact when they bring his food.

The first who offered to look to his injuries and repair the damaged circuitry in his arm leaves the room in several pieces.

No one else offered.

He doesn’t remember much else of the two days, stewing inside his head and destroying his rooms and ignoring everyone who tries to speak to him. He vaguely recalls sending a message to his seneschal back home, demanding all information about the Outlander’s family to be sent to his rooms, with specific emphasis on her younger sister.

He cringes when he finds the message again, so riddled with spelling errors and obvious echoes of his grief, but it’s not like he can change it now.

His arm is sparking and his injuries are aching and he _doesn’t care_.

He doesn’t really remember sleeping since they left Asylum either, but he must at some point because he suddenly jerks out of a restless sleep with his hands on his stomach, the sudden flash of pain enough to make him disorientated while he flails about in ridiculously tangled sheets.

The wetness on his face is absolutely not tears, it’s just sweat because his rooms are so fucking uncomfortable… and he possibly broke part of the ventilation system at some point.

He fumbles around hopelessly, searching for either his mask or his datapad, but the mask is nowhere to be seen. When his eyes finally focus and he half-swings out of his bed, he spots it across the room, all but shattered against the wall with his lightsaber discarded nearby.

He shouldn’t be so relieved, and yet he is.

This is the longest he’s been away from the Spire in years and despite everything he actually feels… almost comforted by that knowledge? He knows his father is still alive, and is still out there, but somehow… even knowing that, somehow Valkorion feels further away than he’s felt since the day Arcann took the throne.

It’s probably another way his mind is playing tricks on him, but the rush of relief is so intense it almost feels foreign, like it’s a feeling that doesn’t belong to him. Almost like the way he sometimes used to feel Thexan’s stronger emotions when they were children.

His stomach heaves again at the thought of his brother, and he hunches over instinctively.

But after a moment, the feeling settles and he notices his datapad on the ground nearby. Right, _focus_ , he has work to do. Checking the chronometer confirms that they should nearly be home, and he has no time for stupid pitying thoughts from his own mind.

Too tired to move, he tries to pull his datapad with the Force and it almost goes sailing past him due to his lack of control, stopped only by slamming into his sore shoulder with a grunt.

He rubs his shoulder briefly before switching the datapad on, cursing under his breath as his mechanical arm twitches rather than respond correctly to his commands. The circuitry definitely needs replacing, possibly half-melted from the admittedly rather impressive shot Calli made to his shoulder. Is it wrong to feel a sense of satisfaction in the fact that she was skillful enough to hold her own against a Force-user?

But he’s not thinking about her right now, he’s _not_ , and he’s certainly not proud of her because that would be horrendously stupid of him, and he has work to do and no stupid feelings of relief or sadness or loathing or illness are going to stop him.

The datapad flashes as his alerts start rolling in, the most obvious being a clearly annoyed message from Vaylin about their near-arrival back home and did her _dear_ brother maybe want to be an Emperor instead of hiding in his rooms all day?

He scowls, quickly shooting off an irritated reply that she almost immediately responds to with some combination of symbols that perplexes him until he turns it on the side and it causes a memory of the flash of her teeth when she grins wickedly at him.

He might be grudgingly impressed at that but decides to ignore it and skips through most of everything else. No news on the Outlander, tentative requests for his medical staff to meet with him eventually which he accepts with another scowl, reports of the restored power station near the Spire he ignores, income reports from the occupation of Alderaan he sulkily accepts, and so many others his head is spinning within about five minutes.

But the work keeps his brain occupied, and if his neck starts cramping from the angle he’s holding his datapad at, at least the pain helps him focus.

He’s still idling browsing reports when the final call regarding their arrival on Zakuul filters through and he angrily stands up and moves towards the other room to find armour that he did not damage over the last few days.

It takes longer to put it on than he would like but he is certainly not asking for help right now. It takes far longer to locate another copy of his mask, and the inferior model almost burns as he seals it around his scars again. But he pushes through the pain, determinedly not looking in the mirror again.

But he feels far more in control as he presents a more dignified figure, stalking through the ship to be the first to disembark, ignoring Vaylin’s disapproval at his back as he brushes past every sycophant waiting for his arrival.

He is their Emperor - they await his pleasure, not the other way around.

Lightheaded from the little food and sleep he’s been using to sustain himself for the last few days, it seems an eternity before he is finally back in the safety of his own rooms, barking orders at any servants or guards he found along the way. His Chief Surgeon is standing in the hallway outside of his quarters, his eyes wide when he takes in the ruined arm, but he simply barks “ _Not now_ ” at him as he brushes past and locks himself in his rooms.

The table in the main room already has neat stacks of gleaming datapads on top of it, including one revealing a quick note that the datapads contain the information he requested about ‘ _Callistra Amell._ ’

Swallowing quickly, he grabs the stack and moves over to the couch, fingers tightening on the electronics to the point his knuckles almost turn white. There is a small plate of non-perishable foods on the caf table in front of him, but it's the bottle of wine that draws his attention and he quickly removes the mask to take a drink; it’s absolutely for the wine, and not because the mask chafes at his face and he wants the freedom of fresh air on his skin.

Now that he actually knew her name and could connect it back to his previous research on the Outlander, it’s much easier to recall details about Calli that he should have noticed and recognised earlier, if he hadn’t been so caught up in the lingering infatuation with her. Both the physical details - the same eyes as her sisters, the bright red hair, her small and demure stature that so belied the fire hiding within her, the curve in her eyebrow when she raises it, - and her personality - the passionate temper that so thoroughly intrigued him, the propensity for crass words that was enough to startle him when they first met, her stunningly fierce loyalty to her loved ones, and the faint lilt to her accent.

There had been so little information on her at the time of his initial research, and her lack of Force abilities had led him to underestimate her and not pursue further avenues of investigation. Her dislike for Force-users was well known, her connection to her family altogether tenuous on paper - how could he have foreseen her importance?

He opens up the original files, his breath absolutely not catching as her profile is brought to life above the terminal in his caf table, along with the basic spiel his memory is slowly recalling from years before. She was right there, the whole time, right under his nose.

_Callistra Oriana Amell, age: [redacted], younger sister to the Jedi Master Amell twins, non-entity to all war efforts over the past decades. Suspected ties to Republic Strategic Information Service, unconfirmed. Similarly strong ties to galactic underworld suspected, unconfirmed. Home: Unknown. Allegiance: Unknown. Occupation: [redacted]. Wealth: Unknown. Current location: Unknown. Known Associates: Unavailable._

Wait.

Unavailable? That is definitely different to ‘ _unknown_ ’. Arcann frowns and selects that area of her profile for a closer look. He could have sworn he recalled something else there before? And didn’t her occupation used to say slicer?

Calli certainly reacted when he said that, up there on the wretched control platform on Asylum, and he covers his wince by swallowing another mouthful of wine.

Although he is eternally grateful for the fact that, with the exception of the shadow of his father’s presence lingering in the Outlander’s mind, his father and his brutal expectations on their detail retention is years behind him, it does mean his brain is no longer used to the endless repetition of memory exercises that he and Thexan endured over the years, and he can’t remember the minor details in the same way he used to.

_Known Associates: Travelled with [redacted] for multiple years, species: Mirialan, suspected [redacted] relationship. Allied with [redacted], species: [redacted], reasons unknown, but noted as unusual for a cross-species friendship. Noted as perhaps cultural life-[redacted]. Mentored by [redacted] Abe[redacted], personal favour not professional supervisor. No official affiliations._

An alert then suddenly appears on the screen. _“Addendum: Subject possesses absolutely no abilities relating to slicing or data manipulation and it is quite presumptuous of anyone to assume so. Subject is a completely model citizen! Slicer is just completely rude and wrong and anyone who says so should be ashamed!”_

Arcann blinks in surprise, his eyebrow rising. _That_ is definitely new.

Overall, it seems like a pretty hasty patch job but he’s actually rather… impressed? That dataspike she’d implanted must have had more purposes than he originally thought, rather than just enabling the Outlander’s escape somehow. But that’s a lot of information on his personal systems to search through, let alone to actively change to the point that his own security protocols did not notice it.

He shrugs and tries to focus on the known associates again. The first line admittedly jumps out at him, despite the many redacted segments, as it seems to specify a particular relationship that is different to the others. For the first time he considers the possibility that she might have had a romantic partner all along and it makes him feel suddenly ill again, which is obviously the wine settling in his empty stomach and not any possible feelings of jealousy.

He is not _jealous_ , he is the Immortal Emperor and could literally have anyone he chooses. And she spent the night in _his_ arms, despite that apparently not being her end goal by her flustered look when he slyly suggested it. She wanted _him_ , he knew she did. The way she gasped his name and eagerly clung to him without prompting was proof of that.

Another potential lover changes _nothing_. Besides, he has absolutely no intention of pursuing her again anyway. She is the _enemy_ , and just because he remembers her eyes and the way she moaned in his ear means _nothing_ , he knows better.

Besides, even if her agreement with his offer was solely to maintain her cover, it does not explain her actions while she remained on Zakuul afterwards. Was her lover on Zakuul too? How long had she been here?

He frowns, picking up the next datapad to see if he can find the answers he’s seeking.

She had obviously been here for some time, as despite her predominant use of Galactic Basic, she had clearly mastered Zakuulan as well, with only the slightest hint of an accent to her words. Did she have anyone else here with her, or was it just her by herself? If she had another lover, how could they bring themselves to be apart from her for so long?

She had obviously left Zakuul to join her sister at some point - had she had time to reunite with her other loved ones as well? And among those left behind, does she know…?

_“And both of your sons take after their mum more anyway!”_

He winces at the echo of her defiant voice in his memory, face flushing at the obvious implication.

_Both_. She said _both_. And not like referring to him and the past Thexan, the Thexan he loved and murdered. Like she was referring to someone she _knew_ , like someone she was angrily defending as passionately as she defended him.

And she might not have the Force, but even a blind idiot could have felt her rage spike when she coolly threw the existence of Thex-the _pretender’s_ letters in his face.

_How does she even know about those?_

Did the pretender tell her? Did she cruelly laugh and mock him with the pretender, talking about how easily they have both fool- _tried_ to fool him?

He will not be so easily tricked!

Besides, there is an obvious explanation that calms his racing heart. Her interference in his data… she obviously found the letters there somehow.

But the knowledge she might know the pretender and sympathise with him, or- or _more_ … it makes his stomach clench. Of course Calli might prefer _him_. Even from beyond the grave, Thexan’s superiority in every way is inescapable.

_No_. No he will not let Thexan’s ghost haunt him today. He has too much to do, too much to learn and rectify.

His arms around his stomach are just to try to settle the ache the wine is causing, that is all.

Trying to focus, he returns his attention to the datapads, trying to discern which one to view next. He needs to know where Calli went after leaving Zakuul - if she went straight to Asylum - but considering the shroud of secrecy over her movements since her sister’s… capture, he doubts he will find the information he’s looking for.

Perhaps if he tries for something earlier, that might provide some clues? Also likely to be less heavily encrypted and protected.

And… whatever that was that was editing his files that he’s politely ignoring, is less likely to have affected any older information about her. Since he actually had a full name this time, his intelligence team has been more successful in locating older information about her. Perhaps he shall have more luck here?

It doesn’t take long to locate a datapad with fragments of videos, and he decides to start there. Not because he wants to see her face again, but it might provide clues that others would miss.

His breath absolutely does not catch at the first sight of her, sprawled on the couch with her legs over another woman’s lap, merrily drinking from the tall glass in her hand.

She looks so _young_ , eyes sparkling with laughter as she and the older woman toast something again, the language unfamiliar to him.

_“Good riddance Skavak!” both women declare as they pull their glasses back to their lips. Calli pulls a face towards the camera, lips definitely forming an over-exaggerated pout as she wrinkles her nose._

_“Geralt! Stop being gross and filming us and get your ass over here!”_

_“I don’t know Calli, I think the Captain’s ass should stay right where it is.”_

_“Uh-huh you can’t fool me for a moment Rish, you liiiiiike his ass.”_

_“I most certainly do not!”_

_The holocam moves forward, a distinctly male voice chuckling behind it. “Oh please ladies, continue lamenting how great my ass is. Should I turn around, do a little twirl?”_

_The holocam stays still but the flash of white around the edges implies the man is indeed twirling around._

_The older woman on the couch looks intrigued, but Calli immediately takes the opportunity to lob her nearly empty glass directly at his ass instead, almost falling off the couch in laughter when it connects._

_He seems to whirl back around, immediately stalking forward towards the couch. “Calli! That’s going to stain!”_

_She shrieks with laughter, clambering over the back of the couch in a ridiculously undignified manner to escape him, dodging out of the way as he lunges for her. “Too slow asshole!” she chants, sticking her tongue out at him._

_What follows is a ridiculous game of the two of them chasing each other around the couch in circles, both laughing hysterically while Calli calls for someone named Bowdaar to save her._

_In the end the woman on the couch trips the Mirialan and he goes flying, dramatically falling directly onto Calli in the process. “A-ha! Gotcha!”_

_She squirms, still laughing. “Noooooo… Bowie! Help me!”_

_A soft roar is heard from the side of the room, out of view of the quietly hovering holocam but it’s evidently not as helpful as she’s hoping because the Mirialan quickly regains his feet, tossing her over his shoulder. “I win!”_

_Calli is still laughing, pushing her braided hair out of her eyes. “You fucking jerk you cheated!”_

_“Tut tut, language my dear! Whatever do I say to my employers when they learn I have such a crass slicer on my ship?”_

_“Fuck you!”_

_“Tsk tsk. Guess I better go wash your mouth out with soap!” he declares with a grin, turning off down the hall and ignoring her fists beating on his back._

_“Put me down! Don’t you dare! Bowiiiiiiiiiie!”_

_The woman on the couch is still giggling but gestures at the holocam and it deactivates._

To Arcann’s surprise he realises he is also chuckling at the video - her laughter is fairly infectious. He’s not spectacular at judging ages but he wouldn’t be surprised to learn the video was taken even ten years ago, as Calli looks so _young_. But there’s still that same combination of sweetness and wickedness in her smile.

He hastily swaps to the next video in the file.

It’s obviously a few years later, as Calli looks a bit older, significantly helped by her flat expression as she stands there, arms folded. _“I’m sorry, you want me to what?”_

_“Come on sweetheart it’s just a little interview thing. Gotta get the views up! You understand.”_

_“Geralt, I am NOT parading around your fucking bar in a bra and miniskirt okay, it is tasteless and moronic and I’m not one of your fucking showgirls!”_

_“Okay, first of all, you’re basically just wearing that now anyway, you can still keep the jacket. Second of all, that’s rude, don’t be mean to the nice showgirls. Thirdly, you wouldn’t have to do much, just stay behind the bar? Pleeeeeeeeease?”_

_She still looks unconvinced and he sighs. “And you can obviously knock the lights out of anyone who tries to touch you assuming Bowdaar or I don’t get there first.”_

_She tilts her head to the side. “Awww… that’s so sweet!” she says, voice lilted way too high to be anything other than a warning before she punches his shoulder hard enough to make him grunt. “You fucking owe me for this!”_

_“Yeah yeah, whatever you say babe. You’re a legend!”_

_She rolls her eyes, still smiling, before stepping out of frame._

The video suddenly flickers to another scene, which appears to be in the middle of some sort of bar, and the male voice, Geralt, is speaking again. _“Here at Port Nowhere we have a host of fine dining establishments, the best alcohol that the best pirates can possibly afford, and more gambling establishments than you could shake a stick at!”_

_The camera slowly pans around the room, presumably pointing out said features, and stops as Calli stalks past the bar, wearing some sort of sparkling minidress and heels as she somehow looks taller. Geralt speaks again. “And of course, the most lovely of staff to cater to your every need-”_

_A Zabrak sitting in the stool next to where Calli is walking reaches out to pinch her ass and with deadly precision she whirls around and punches him hard enough to knock him on his ass, smashing the tray she’s carrying into his head as he falls._

_“-including if that need is a desperate need to be punched in the face for being a fucking idiot,” the Mirialan says hastily, stepping around in front of the camera so that his face can be seen. “We at Port Nowhere accept no liability whatsoever for any injuries sustained on the premises and our legal team is hard at work to assure you that we-uh-you are as protected as possible in the meantime.”_

_In the background, behind his head, the Zabrak’s companions are angrily gesturing at Calli who appears to be yelling back at them, and in about three seconds flat she has the closest one slammed against the bar, arm twisted at a surely uncomfortably angle behind his back._

_The third companion takes a frightened step back and yelps as he encounters a wall of Wookiee behind him, the Wookiee having snuck up behind them while they were fighting._

_The Wookiee makes no moves towards any weapons and merely looms over the man who hastily backs away, throwing a credit chip in Calli’s direction._

_She lets go of the second combatant and waves cheerily after him as he races off after his friend. The Wookiee folds his arms at her and she grins, daintily taking his arm and suddenly rising a few inches in the air as she visibly steps on the first combatant still on the ground, presumably unconscious._

_The Mirialan suddenly stops talking and Arcann realises he stopped paying attention to him. “Oh what the hell I’ll re-record this later,” Geralt mutters to himself, cutting off the video._

The next one starts automatically, still in the same bar but empty of patrons this time. Calli seems to have aged slightly again, the older woman from the first video standing behind her and braiding her hair as she perches on a bar stool. She’s wearing an outfit almost identical to the one she was wearing on Asylum - extremely low-cut top, short military jacket, skintight pants, tall boots and amusingly what looks like some sort of grenade launcher on her wrist.

It doesn’t seem to be a video of particular importance, just something to document the group in a way that absolutely does not make his chest tighten.

He can actually see Lieca curled up in a chair in the corner, fast asleep against the spy Theron Shan. He can also spot the Cathar now-leader of the Republic’s Havoc Squad leaning against the bar, chatting to a woman whose face he can’t see, but the faint twinkle of cybernetics against her face when she turns her head implies it might be his wife.

The Mirialan smuggler then suddenly pops into frame behind the bar and passes Calli a drink with a grin. She waits until the other woman releases her hair and takes the shot immediately, licking her lips in a way that absolutely does not make him flush.

The scene is suddenly interrupted as Geralt is then all but tackled by a woman with similar tattoos, but much smaller stature, her arms wrapped around his neck.

_“Hi little brother! Have you missed me?”_

_“Ugh, Tali, get off, that’s my throat! Ow ow ow!”_

_“Ah stop whining you wuss. And here’s my favourite girl Calli, what have you been up to?”_

_Calli slides off the stool as soon as the female Mirialan releases her brother, and the two women immediately jump into a near bone-cracking hug. “I didn’t know you were coming over!” Calli says in delight, squeezing extra tight before the older woman steps back._

_The Mirialan, apparently Tali, grins and brushes a lock of hair out of Calli’s eyes. “And miss seeing you babe? Not a chance! Nah, I thought I’d just drop in to surprise my stupid little brother, and apparently I succeeded admirably.”_

_“Hey, who are you calling stupid??”_

_She rolls her eyes. “I rest my case. Now, have I got a story for you…”_

_It only takes a few minutes for the bar to be in an uproar at her sly storytelling, Calli laughing so hard she’s nearly crying, and all but falling off the stool if not for the Wookiee standing behind her._

_“Tell me he didn’t, oh my fucking god nooooo…” Calli says desperately, still giggling and wiping tears from her eyes._

_Tali, now standing on the bar, grins, and flops dramatically onto it, obviously attempting a seductive pose. “Why yes he did,” she drawls. “Come on baby, are you absolutely sure?” she asks, affecting a deadpan deep voice. “What say you and I make our own little fun?”_

_Calli snorts into her glass, still laughing as the woman rolls onto her back, holding her stomach. “Meanwhile he didn’t even notice the team stealing things right behind him! Jonas even fucking nearly knocked the table over and he still didn’t notice!”_

_Calli continues laughing, and even the Wookiee seems to be chuckling behind her._

_The Mirialan woman suddenly rolls over onto her stomach, swiping the shot Geralt just poured for himself and downing it before he can protest. She blows a kiss at her brother before he tries to push her off the table, and she catches herself with an exaggerated eyeroll at his antics. “Oi, Geralt, are you filming shit again? Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t have that thing fucking following your face at a closer angle so you can stare at yourself all day.”_

_He blinks before looking at the holocam. “Oh, fuck, I forgot that was on,” he mutters, heading over to turn it off._

_Tali leans over to whisper something in Calli’s ear and just as Geralt moves his arm to turn off the cam Calli jumps on his back, eyes sparkling with laughter into the camera at his exaggerated sigh. “Gotcha!” she calls in triumph._

_He groans suddenly before grinning, shifting his hands to support her and spinning around suddenly to make her giggle again. “Lookit Bowdaar, I caught a Calli! Guess I’m the favourite again!”_

_He is answered by a warning growl from the bar, and Calli’s breathless giggles as she clings to him, clearly a bit tipsy. “Geralt! Put me down!” she laughs, burying her face in his back as he spins again._

_He grins, but his voice noticeably softens. “Nah, we’re keeping you,” he says, before shifting his grip again and taking off towards the bar._

_“Geraaalt! You forgot the holocam!”_

_“Oh, right. Race ya!”_

There’s a knock on the door, and he looks at his mask lying discarded on the table. He ignores it. “Enter,” he calls over his shoulder, not looking up from the vid file he’s watching.

Someone shuffles into the room, into the edge of his peripheral vision, but he pays them no heed. “Your Majesty,” they say, and he recognises the voice of his Chief Surgeon again, “please, you cannot be comfortable-”

“My comfort is of no concern to me,” Arcann growled, decidedly not looking up from the datapad. Port Nowhere, he’ll have to look into that place, not that he understands exactly what it is. A bar, perhaps? It seems to be somewhere of great comfort to her, from the way she laughs in the vids, the people she embraces with such ferocity that his chest aches to watch it.

Not that he wants to know about this Port Nowhere because it brings her joy, of course - it’s obviously some sort of... of... base of operations for people she would consider associates. It’s important to lock that sort of thing down. Security liability.

“Ah... yes, of course, Your Majesty, it’s simply that...” This is honestly ridiculous, the man has been his physician for five years now, surely he must be capable of speaking without stuttering. “Surely you would find it more efficient to fulfill your capacity as Emperor with a functioning arm?”

The vid in front of him runs to a stop, the final frame frozen on her jubilant smile as she spins back around to the holocam. For a long moment he stares down at it, the movement implicit in the still image, the sheer exuberance in her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

None of it was ever for him.

He puts the datapad face down on the caf table, and deactivates the file with the holoimage hovering before him; the portrait of her vanishes from there, too. He stands up, and turns to face his surgeon. “I have work to attend to,” he says, “so make it fast.”

He’s used to the process of having his arm and implants fine tuned, but this is the most extensive work he’s required in years, the first time he’s faced actual combat and needed repairs as a result. The pain is almost refreshing, a wakeup call for the useless fugue he’s lost himself in these last few weeks, and after several hours his arm is functional again, sleek and intimidating and the shoulder guard freshly welded.

The surgery gives him time to think, and by the time he stalks into the throne room later that evening, his mood is dark, both hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he strides down the aisle. His thoughts swirl with violence and frustration, of emotions he can’t put words to but that make him feel powerful, teetering on the edge of a deep abyss of potential that he could just about reach out and touch if he had the courage to.

He is Emperor of all known civilization, and there is no room for doubt within him.

Sitting on the throne, it's like all of his thoughts crystallize and he can see the path laid out before him once more. The distractions of the last few weeks seem trivial, and petty, like they belong to a lesser man, a lesser creature. He is an emperor, immortal and all powerful, and his goal is clear.

The Alliance must be stopped.


	14. Odessen II

It doesn’t take long to get Lieca settled into the bed in her new quarters on the base, her brother-in-law clucking over the medical equipment nearby while Flissa clambers up onto a chair and watches him with bright-eyed interest. Cera hovers near at hand, smiling indulgently but clearly standing close in case Flissa overbalances the chair and goes toppling backwards, while Theron hangs back near the door, as if unsure whether his presence is allowed or even wanted.

Her heart aches to reach out to him, but despite everything they talked about in that holocall, she’s still a little uncertain of her footing with him. And with everything that’s happened since then - including her ill-timed brush with death - she’s feeling a little overwhelmed.

But Cera knows her better than she knows herself sometimes, and after leaning over to kiss her forehead and plump the cushions propping her up, she gathers the rest of the family and quickly shoos them all out, all but pushing Theron over to sit in a chair next to her bed. Flissa lingers the longest, eyes peering wide and curious around the doorframe until Cera pointedly pulls her out of view.

Lieca winces at the loud click of the electronic lock behind them, and Theron rubs the back of his head. Awkwardly hovering and fidgeting, has he always been this awkward around her? “Nice to see your family hasn’t changed?” he says dryly, a clear undercurrent of nerves to his voice.

She giggles, which seems to relax him a bit. “There’s certainly a few more of them than I remember,” she says quietly. “I’m looking forward to meeting my nieces later. But yes, Cera remains as blunt as ever. And Doc is, well... Doc.”

He sighs, looking back to the door. “Don’t I know it,” he remarks in fond exasperation.

“That Cera is blunt? Or that Doc is Doc?”

“Uh, I mean... both? Because honestly, they’re like- well, you don’t need me to explain to you what your own family is like.”

She laughs, trying to make light of it. “Oh, I don’t know, you’re the one who’s spent the last five years with them, not me.” The moment the words pass her lips, she regrets it; the joke falls badly flat, and Theron’s smile turns brittle, his eyes dropping to the floor out of something that feels a lot like guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” he says hurriedly, ‘“it’s really okay.”

“I just meant-”

“No, no, I knew what you meant.”

Their friendship had seemed so easy once upon a time, and conversation had never been a problem before. Now they’re being buried alive by the awkwardness of the silence between each word. All well and good to make promises over a holocall, but it’s quite another thing to be faced with the reality of everything that’s changed in person.

She winces at the painful turn of her thoughts, and moves her hands to her lap, resting them over her belly as if to protect the wound. “If… if you have somewhere else you need to be?” she offers tentatively, trying to give him a way out as he looks towards the door again.

He wrenches his head back around to face her so fast that he seems to give himself whiplash, if the way he winces and reaches up to rub his neck is anything to go by. “No! No, I don’t need to be anywhere else,” he says quickly, eyes wide; but there’s something there, hiding in the depths, and he drops her gaze again after a moment. That same flicker of guilt, and shame.

She’s suddenly struck by the fact that _everyone_ , every single one of her friends and family, has reacted to her with that same hesitance, that same grief-tinged guilt, and she’s very tired of it. “I feel like we’re just going in circles,” she says quietly, gently drawing on the Force and reaching for his injured neck.

He tenses as soon as she touches him, eyebrow rising in confusion before the healing touches him and he relaxes. “Maybe someone just... happens to like circles,” he says awkwardly, moving his hand over hers on his neck.

She smiles, rubbing circular patterns on the back of his neck and watching him grin when he realises what she’s doing. “Hmm, is that so?” she teases, unable to stop herself moving her fingers over his skin, lips turning into a smirk as he shudders at her touching the sensitive part behind his ear.

He catches her hand in his again and brings both to his lips, kissing the back of her hand. “Trouble,” he mutters, voice low, and she feels her face flush.

She doesn’t withdraw her hand, instead lacing her fingers through his; it feels better, not quite so awkward, but the butterflies in her tummy haven’t quite got the message yet. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with her other hand, she clears her throat. “Well, um… so what’s new with you?”

He’s clearly amused at her clumsy segue - and probably happy it’s not just him being the embarrassed one - but apparently decides to indulge her. “Well, as you may be aware, I’m apparently your spymaster now,” he drawls, obviously pleased at her flustered expression. “Cera recruited me fairly early in the process, and keeps me fairly busy.”

She frowns, even as her heart flutters at the way he emphasizes ‘ _her spymaster_ ’. “What about the SIS?” she asks. She _knows_ how devoted Theron is to the SIS - even all those years ago, after everything that happened on Ziost, when she impulsively asked him to stay with her - he couldn’t walk away. What had changed?

He ducks his head, as if to hide the grimace he makes. “After everything that happened, especially after what happened to you… the SIS didn’t feel right for me anymore,” he says carefully, before looking up at her, golden eyes intensely focused. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise.”

Lieca blinks in confusion, moving her fingers out of his to gently touch his cheek. “No, no don’t apologise! It was wrong of me to ask you to walk away from something you were so passionate for, impulsive request or not.”

He leans into her touch, closing his eyes. “Wrong? No - what was wrong is that I wasn’t there with you when it all happened.”

She shakes her head, running her thumb over his cheek. “Then something might have happened to you too and I just… I can’t bear the thought of that. As much as this hurts, it was for the best.”

He sighs, eyes still closed. “I was working with Jonas when I heard the news,” he says quietly, voice still echoing with his grief and horror. “I was… not in a good place, for a long time. But Cera wouldn’t leave me alone - she kept dragging me out, insisting I not sit and ‘ _wallow_ ’ or whatever she called it. Her conviction that you were still alive… well, you just can’t argue with her sometimes.”

She chuckles, eyes welling up with tears again. “Cera is stubborn, yes,” she says. “I’m glad you had someone looking out for you.”

He nods, apparently not trusting his voice, and moves his hand up over hers, entwining their fingers together.

After so many years of confusing dreams and visions, it’s still hard to believe that he’s really _here_. That she’s touching _him_ , and feeling the warmth of _him_ , and it’s not just another one of Valkorion’s malicious attempts to lure her into a false sense of security. The last few weeks in particular have been very hard, stranded on Asylum and so close she can almost feel him across the distance between them, and even after Lana’s quiet reassurances that he was okay she hadn’t been able to shake the anxious little tickle in the back of her head.

This, though. This helps.

She realises she’s been staring at him too long when Theron suddenly ducks his head in embarrassment. “And, you know, I guess Lana’s filled you in on the rest, all those boring old bureaucratic details. Want you to know, I’ll do everything I can to keep things running smoothly around here.”

He’s here. He’s here and he’s with her and for once she doesn’t have to worry about anything at all. “So you’ll take care of _anything_ I need you to?”

He smirks. “Anything you need, boss,” he responds, voice low enough to make her shiver. His face then turns serious. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to thaw you out.”

She shifts closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Theron, it’s fine,” she says quietly. She can’t stop touching him, nothing particularly sexual in the gestures but just... _he’s here_. She needs to reassure herself he’s real. “The carbonite was… imperfect. It’s probably best that you didn’t have to see that.”

An adorable little crease forms between his brows as he frowns; there are lines beside his eyes that weren’t there five years ago, and his implants have definitely changed since she last saw him. “Lana mentioned something briefly, but didn’t really give any details. I think she was trying to stop us - er, me from worrying but, you know, lost cause there.”

She chuckles, shuffling awkwardly across the mattress a little more as she reaches out to brush her fingers over his hair line. “I don’t think I can be blamed entirely for all of the stress,” she says softly, gently stroking a tiny streak of silver she’d noticed earlier, feeling him almost tense under her fingers.

Theron is watching her quietly, his eyes almost glowing with fondness. “You’re certainly to blame for a lot of it,” he grumbles jokingly, but his expression remains serious and he doesn’t move away from her like he might have if he’d really been angry.

She continues to stroke his hair back, revelling in the touch of him, but her silence seems to make him nervous and he shifts his hand to rub the back of his head again. “Okay, well, a lot of it has been from setting up this alliance, so that’s only partially your- okay, I’m gonna stop saying things are your fault and stop babbling. Just...” He takes a deep breath. “Look at all you’ve accomplished - everyone who chose to rally behind you, just the promise of your name and what they believe you’re capable of. I haven’t been one of those ‘ _destiny_ ’ people in a long time, but this? Sure feels like something amazing.”

“I think it’s actually _Cera_ that everyone’s following,” she says dryly, but she’s smiling as she says it. “But if you mean being here with you, I agree.”

Theron coughs nervously, flushing slightly. “Well yeah, definitely that too,” he says, almost shyly.

She licks her lips instinctively, and his eyes follow the movement. It still feels… _awkward_ , even though they agreed on Asylum that their feelings hadn’t changed. Like the time together on Rishi when their feelings finally blossomed from friendship into something else, except even more awkward now because it’s been five years for him and five minutes for her, and it’s all... is clumsy the right word for what she’s feeling?

He’s had long enough for doubt to creep in at the edges, for time to dull his feelings and tinge them with grief and anger and frustration; her feelings are still sharp and bright and it _hurts_ to know that he actually lived through it all without her, and Force preserve, that’s almost longer than all the time they actually knew each other before she was imprisoned - let alone the much shorter time after they actually admitted their feelings for one another and were discretely involved.

Even though Valkorion still seems to be recovering too - either from the energy he expended keeping her alive, or from how much he used in order to project himself to multiple people - and has been relatively quiet since the Control Spar, she can almost hear his faint mocking laughter in her head. He’s laughing at her, laughing at her distress, and something in her expression must have changed, because Theron’s face shifts to abrupt concern. “What is it?”

Because it’s not enough that she’s lost five years of her life, is it? It’s that she’s ruined so many other people’s lives in the process, making them suspend every aspect of living in order to wait for her. And as if Theron hasn’t already had his life upended by Jedi enough through the years, no, she had to go and make it worse, it’s just another reason why she’s feeling nervous now because Force it’s not enough that she’s a Jedi and he’s her mentor’s son and he and his mother don’t get along and she has a child and she’s been gone for five years with so many things unsaid between them-

“Uh, Lieca? Sweetheart?”

No, she _also_ has to have the slimy Sith Emperor living in her head and what if he hurts her people, what if he hurts _Theron or Flissa_ and she suddenly can’t breathe and her jaw _aches_.

Theron just about springs out of his chair, knocking it over in his haste to stand up and quickly cup her cheek. “Lieca! Lieca, what’s wrong?”

She can tell she’s panicking and the Force is flickering across her wound and she still can’t breathe and the spike of sudden _hate_ she feels isn’t _hers_ and she can’t _focus_.

But she’s had years of practice to try to calm her emotions, so even if they feel foreign and she doesn’t understand the strength of the intrusion, it’s all but second nature to sternly push it all aside and _calm down_. She feels the pull of Cera’s concern just as she moves her hand over Theron’s, gripping tight as she forces herself to take a deep breath and closes her eyes.

She threads her fingers through his, still concentrating on breathing, and pushing the flickers of Force washing over her directly to her stomach wound. It’s finally healing much better now that she’s conscious and able to maintain it correctly. Stupid Valkorion and his poor healing. She’s almost insulted.

But even without the Force she can still feel Theron’s panic from the way he grips her hand, so she concentrates hard and opens her eyes again. He’s watching her, his own eyes wide with fear and concern. “Lieca?” he asked, squeezing her hand. “What’s going on?”

She winces, moving her other hand to her stomach. “Sorry, it’s just… everything?” she says helplessly, before frowning. “Sorry, that was unhelpful. And pointlessly dramatic. I’m fine?”

He huffs at her, eyebrows drawn as he frowns. “That sounds like a question. Not really reassuring.”

She takes another deep breath. If she’s completely honest with herself, she’s fairly certain she knows exactly what the problem is, and she’s absolutely not happy about it. A Force bond is a deeply powerful commitment at the best of times, and this... this is absolutely not the best of times. But she’s tired and she’s stressed and she honestly doesn’t want to think about it right now. She definitely doesn’t want to tell Theron what she suspects it is. Tomorrow, maybe. “It’s just… overwhelming. But I’m okay. I promise.”

He’s still frowning, golden eyes shifting to her stomach. “You just like worrying me, don’t you?” he says dryly, a hint of his fear coming through his voice.

She squeezes his hand again. “It’s healing rather nicely, all things considered,” she says quietly, rubbing her other over her stomach. “A good thing too, I don’t want my loved ones worrying about me too much.”

Amusingly, Theron actually blushes a little bit, his cheeks visibly flushing even through his darker complexion. “Your family is glad to see you home,” he says haltingly.

She hums, still amused. “I meant you as well, Theron,” she says softly. “I know… I know things haven’t been easy, but I did mean what I said on Asylum. My feelings haven’t changed. But I know… I also know we can’t just… jump back to what we were. It’s just going to be awkward sometimes? But I’m trying. I do still care.”

He visibly relaxes, stroking her cheek for a moment. “Same here,” he says, voice rough. “I won’t… I won’t lie and say it was easy, you being gone. But it was important to me - we’ve been friends for so long, and our friendship got me through so much. And then we realised it was more than that and I just… I want that to keep going. Despite everything that’s happened, I want this to be okay.”

He pauses. “So if you could stop giving me one thousand heart attacks from all of your near death experiences, it would be greatly appreciated,” he says, moving their joined hands to his mouth again to kiss her fingers. “But, I’m glad you’re safe. And that you still feel the same. It’s pretty helpful, you know. All things considered.”

She giggles. “You still need to work on your flirting,” she teases, feeling lighter.

He sighs and chuckles wryly. “If my love life wasn’t a disaster, how would we know it’s mine?”

She laughs openly, and the tightness around his eyes fades, looking pleased with himself as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “So, uh, I believe we’ve established that our feelings haven’t changed?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

She huffs, blowing another lock of hair off her forehead. “So when are you going to kiss me?” she says, almost a whine but managing to hold it mostly back.

Theron laughs, eyes shining, and leans over her. “If the lady insists,” he says smugly, voice cracking only slightly as he moves his head down to gently kiss her and she can finally _breathe_ again.

He seems to want to only make it a short kiss, but she’s waited five years to have him back - she’s not going to let him get away that easily. She moves her hand into his hair before he can pull back, and he groans softly against her mouth and deepens the kiss as her nails scratch down his neck. She knows he’s cautious of her injuries, but she doesn’t really want to wait to recover just to get a real kiss.

He pulls back slightly after a long moment to catch his breath, pressing his face against her neck. “Damn I missed you,” he rasps, fingers cautiously stroking her cheek as he moves to rub his nose against hers. “Thought I was losing my mind.”

She gives him a sweet smile, kissing his cheek. “I missed you too,” she says softly before pouting. “Now, if you don’t have anywhere else to be, get over here.”

He blinks in confusion, golden eyes a little hazy. “Hmm?”

She sighs. “Theron, it’s a big bed. Please climb up here next to me and give me a real hug before I lose my mind.”

“Can’t have that,” he drawls, but he’s clearly uncertain.

She pulls on the collar of his jacket. “Theron, I’m okay. I just need rest. You won’t hurt me, promise.”

He grins shyly, mock-saluting. “Yes ma’am.”

It’s a little awkward, the way he clumsily crawls into the bed, helping her to shuffle over so there’s enough room for him to slither to the side furthest from the door and closer to the wall, but she finds it rather endearing. Eventually he’s snuggled into her side, one arm slung low over her hips to avoid touching her stomach.

And there’s her proof of how little he’s been sleeping himself, because it’s barely a few minutes before he’s gently snoring against her neck, and she bites back a giggle. She rests her hand over his where it sits on her belly, almost unable to believe that after the last five years of misery and nightmares, he’s finally here with her.

She suspects Holiday must be monitoring her room, because the lights have been dimmed without their input, and after a few minutes of soft quiet the door opens automatically to reveal Flissa standing there, shyly twirling her hair around her fingers as she peers around the doorframe again.

Lieca grins at her daughter, gesturing for her to come closer with the hand not gently stroking Theron’s hair.

Flissa grins back, their expressions mirrored, and quickly races across the room to her bed, climbing up next to her on the side closest to the door. “Holiday said it was fine for me to come in,” she whispers, looking cautiously at Theron. “Can we both stay?”

Lieca nods, shifting to accommodate Flissa. “Of course darling.” The movement apparently dislodges Theron slightly as he grumbles something in his sleep, burying his face further in her neck and tightening his grip on her.

Lieca flushes but Flissa apparently doesn’t notice, wriggling to get comfortable and still playing with her own hair. “I’m glad you’re back,” the girl says quietly, staring up at her mother with her father’s big brown eyes.

She grins back at her, moving enough to kiss her head again and ignoring Theron’s sleepy protests. “Me too hun. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mama.”

 

* * *

 

Lieca must have drifted off too, as she wakes some time later at the sound of soft conversation, slowly opening her eyes to focus on the scene on the other side of the room.

She’s not sure how much time has passed, whether they slept through the whole night or whether it’s only just early evening now, but Theron and Flissa evidently woke up a while ago and are sitting at a little caf table, Theron for once not tipping back in his chair and Flissa kneeling on her chair to be almost as tall as him. There’s two bowls in front of them, evidently their lunch or dinner, and Theron appears to be instructing her in the best way to use chopsticks, slowly demonstrating the correct technique.

Her heart soars to watch them together, and she deliberately doesn’t move, pretending to sleep as she watches them interacting.

Flissa frowns into the bowl as the noodles slip away from her and her jaw drops as Theron casually reaches over to steal a piece of meat from her bowl. “Theron!” she cries in indignation.

He grins at her, light and carefree, and leans over to wipe a bit of sauce off her cheek with the back of his hand. “Too slow Flissa,” he says cheekily, and she swats his shoulder before turning her entire focus to her meal as though she can will the chopsticks to work properly.

Theron seems to realise what she’s about to do and waves his chopsticks in her face. “Uh-uh, no Force using there missy. That’s cheating. Use the chopsticks.”

She pouts. “But I’m not as good with them,” she whines, clearly eyeing up his bowl.

He chuckles. “Show me,” he says gently. Flissa defiantly points her chopsticks at him and he reaches out to gently correct her grip, teasingly pinching her fingers together when she doesn’t cooperate. “Now try again.”

Looking rather suspicious, she turns her dark brown eyes to the bowl in front of her. Practically radiating doubt, she slowly picks up one of the beans and moves it towards her mouth. The second she chomps down she’s practically shining with glee. “I did it!” she declares, muffled through a mouthful of beans.

Theron grins, leaning back in his chair, and quick as a flash she strikes to swipe a piece of meat from his bowl. “Hey!” he scowls, and she pokes her tongue at him as she chews, radiating smugness.

Lieca can feel her heart squeezing at the cute little domestic scene before her, and the rush of emotion must have alerted her daughter, as Flissa suddenly spins around to face her. “Mama! You’re awake!”

She clambers over to greet her, bouncing on the bed with all the exuberance her eight year old form is capable of holding; she looks back briefly at the sound of Theron nearly falling off his chair, but apparently dismisses him as fine and turns back excitedly to her mother. “Did you want something to eat? Theron made dinner for us! I can use chopsticks!”

He chuckles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head as he wanders over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Fliss, don’t go overselling this,” he says, sharing a private smile with Lieca, “I didn’t _make it_ make it, you know that.”

She pokes her tongue at him. “Nu-uh. Okay, Aunty helped, but it was your idea!”

He wags his finger at her. “You’re just happy I took your most hated vegetables out.”

Flissa pulls a surprisingly expressive ‘ _ick_ ’ face, and Lieca laughs, trying to cover the heartache at the fact she herself has no idea about her daughter’s favourite and least favourite foods now that she’s older. She’s missed so many little things, all of which add up to a beautiful, wonderful child - a child who she knows so little about.

Theron seems to sense where her thoughts are leading. “Don’t worry, we’ve been making a list,” he says softly, eyes warm, and Flissa grins obliviously, not realising the significance of there being a list for something as simple as foods. He mock-frowns at her. “And no, we’re not telling your mother that all you can eat is chocolate cake. She knows that’s a lie, you sneak.”

She pouts and Lieca laughs again, wincing as she tries to sit up more. Flissa frowns, scrambling up over the covers with a very serious expression on her face as she climbs all over her mother to adjust the pillows, when all of them are distracted by soft laughter at the door.

Cera is standing there grinning at them, hair loose and a comfortable looking robe over her shoulders. “She just knows what she wants, that’s all,” she says, with all the lofty confidence of a woman who very determinedly wanted to only eat toffee when she was Flissa’s age. At least she knows how to make it properly now - they were only banned from the temple kitchens for a month after the last disaster.

Flissa beams at her aunt’s approval, and Theron sighs, rubbing his temple for a moment. Cera’s smile turns vaguely apologetic. “Now then darling, can I speak to your mother alone for a bit? There's a few important things we need to talk about.”

Flissa frowns and looks back to Lieca, but nods. “Yes, Aunty,” she says softly. “Can I come back later?”

Cera nods. “Holiday will let you know. Theron, can you take her over to Ona’la for me? You might have to finish your food in the mess hall though.”

The spymaster is already frowning, watching them both in suspicion and Cera sighs. “Please?”

He makes a face. “It’s not like I tried to make food for Lieca as well or anything,” he grumbles, but he gathers up Flissa’s bowl with his own, artfully juggling the half-full bowls and chopsticks with ease, before moving over to kiss Lieca’s forehead.

She smiles sweetly at him, hoping it conveys the apology adequately. “You should come back too,” she says softly.

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and she knows he’s not entirely happy. “You bet,” he murmurs, before collecting Flissa and ushering her from the room.

The door closing behind them is such a relief that she nearly starts crying again and Cera rushes over to catch her hands as she sits next to her. She shouldn’t be _relieved_ to have space from her daughter and the man she loves, what is wrong with her? But Cera understands her better than she understands herself sometimes, and her sister promptly climbs onto the bed beside her, wrapping her arms around her for a moment before resting next to her on the pillow, just like when they were children sharing a bed in the temple dormitories. “It’s alright, darling, I know,” she said softly, but firmly.

“I shouldn’t be glad-”

“Everyone needs their own space now and then, that’s just human nature. It’s perfectly understandable that you’re feeling overwhelmed with everything that’s been happening these last few days.”

Lieca scrunches up her nose, half to pull a face at her sister and half to discourage the tears in her eyes.

Cera pokes her. “I mean it,” she says pointedly.

“I know, I know.”

“Now, tell me what you won’t tell them. What the hell is going on, sis?”

She’s not sure exactly what Cera knows, what she’s passed on in jumbled thoughts through their connection, so it's just easiest to tell the full story. And it's such a relief to finally explain it all to someone who _understands_.

Cera _knows_ why she shudders in revulsion at Valkorion, the horror she feels at his presence. Cera knows why she’s trying so hard to redeem his son who keeps panicking and trying to kill her. Cera also knows how much they love their baby sister and what she’s able to add to the jumbled pieces of Calli’s story makes _everything_ make more sense.

At the confirmation that Calli and Arcann had indeed been together in the Spire, Cera groans and half sits up, holding her head in her hands. “Damnit Calli, I thought you were smarter than this,” she mumbles. “Certainly explains a lot though.”

“You didn’t see the way he looked at her. Cera, his eye turned _blue_.”

Cera just groans louder, clearly choosing melodrama as her outlet as she rolls over and flops backwards onto the bed, sprawled out dramatically. “Thexan’s going to have a field day with this,” she says dryly. “You know they spoke before she joined you, right? I’m just glad she had someone to talk to - since she clearly didn’t feel comfortable with the rest of us.”

She then sighs. “Obviously she made an impression then, huh? But fucking stars, she could’ve picked literally anyone else in the galaxy-”

“Scourge?” Lieca asked teasingly.

“She could have picked _almost_ anyone else in the galaxy,” Cera amended.

“She’s already miserable, you can’t say anything to her about it!”

Cera tuts. “Such lack of faith in me! I’m wounded, wounded!”

Lieca laughs. “You spend too much time with that husband of yours, you sound just like him sometimes,” she teases.

Cera looks even more scandalised, and they both laugh at the looks on each other’s faces before Lieca’s expression falls. “Where is Calli?” she asks quietly.

Holiday’s image appears over the nearby console almost instantly, and both sisters sit up to look at her - Lieca with a little difficulty, but Cera helps her. Holiday looks terribly miserable. “Geralt and Bowdaar are keeping her distracted,” she says somewhat anxiously, wringing her hands together. “Risha’s preparing to head home tomorrow, and depending on how Calli goes Geralt might go with her. They miss their kids - who are so ridiculously adorable! But you can’t tell Geralt I said that!”

She then shifts her hands to her hips, glaring at Lieca. “And you! Stop scaring us like that! Tharan and I have been worried sick! Again!”

Lieca winces. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you,” she says softly, ignoring Holiday’s ‘ _hrmph_!’ in the background as she looks to Cera. “Where is Tharan anyway? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Cera just looks amused. “Cedrax splits his time between home on Nar Shaddaa and working with Doctor Oggurobb here. You remember, that Hutt scientist I met on Makeb? He’s here with us, heading up our research division.”

Holiday huffs again. “And he has a clear problem with recognising genius!” she says hotly.

Cera’s eyes are twinkling. “They argue a lot.”

Lieca gives her a dry look. “I can’t imagine Tharan clashing with other similarly creative scientific minds,” she says diplomatically, so as not to upset Holiday. That certainly explains the Hutt she vaguely recalls seeing when she arrived here. Of course, there could also be more than one Hutt with the Alliance - her sister can be wonderfully persuasive when the occasion calls for it.

Case in point, the way she’s casually moving towards the deactivated hover stretcher where it’s propped up by the door. Lieca sighs. “Cera… “

“Oh hush you,” she scolds, activating the repulsors and waiting for it to settle at an appropriate height. “You know you can’t walk, you know you need it, and if you want to meet my girls, you and I are going on a little adventure with the magic floating bed. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

“Mmm, yes, because I clearly have a choice in the matter.”

Cera chuckles and moves over to kiss her forehead. “Just… be smart, okay? I know you, but you do honestly need time to heal properly. Stop trying to overdo it, for _once_ in your life.”

“Hello pot, I am the kettle. It’s so wonderful to-ow!”

Cera swats her shoulder, eyes sparkling. “Hypocrisy is one of many gifts we share. Let’s go!”

 

* * *

 

By the time the twins make it to the family area, it’s actually empty of any children and Cera sheepishly asks Holiday to call them all back from their snack time in the mess hall. She settles Lieca on the couch, fussing about with a rainbow cacophony of cushions and pillows as she kneels next to her; Lieca debates whether or not to tell her the fussing is unnecessary, and decides to let her have her moment.

Like everyone else, Cera has been worried about her, and she’s not going to begrudge her the little things that help her feel at ease again.

“This area of the base is actually off limits to all except family,” Cera says, distracted now by the toys scattered across the floor. She stoops to collect some of them, straightening the small chairs and tables as she does so. “Each of the families have our own rooms of course, and the kids have a few separate rooms they can sleep in too if they want, but most of the time they all camp out here in the bunk beds in the back room there. It’s helpful when the others visit, like Jahlia and Nikos or Erika and Aric. Easier to put all the kids here rather than scrambling to find new rooms all the time.”

Cera grins, holding a plush wampa toy and picking dried food out of it’s fur. “Everyone seems to like it, and I think it’s good for the kids. It fosters unity, and a better understanding of each other. They like being able to switch between declaring themselves to be Jedi or Sith or soldiers or rabbits or whatever dormitory culture they want to be that day.”

“Rabbits?”

Cera pauses, frowning. “I think yesterday Rianna wanted to be a Kilik, of all things. Flissa got to practice her healing on the bite marks she left on Nicola, so a silver lining at least?”

“They’re _biting_ one another?”

“Don’t worry, it’s only the twins, none of the other children seem to be anywhere near as savage as my little terrors. Ona’la was like you, she seemed more horrified than amused by it - but she doesn’t know I rescued Anya from that old knotted tree just outside twice yesterday, so sometimes it’s just-”

“Actually, she does know. And thank you for sparing us the stress of that.”

The new male voice is familiar enough to make Lieca jump in alarm, her stomach wound flaring, but before she can turn her head to confirm that it’s not _actually_ Arcann and calm her racing heart, the room is quickly flooded by the sounds of small children tearing into the room.

She is immediately leapt upon by two absolutely gorgeous girls who could only be Cera’s twin daughters, with their father’s eyes and their mother’s mischievous grin. She remembers enough about them from her visions over the years and her sister’s earlier stories to be able to tell them apart - Rianna likes wearing pastels, and Nicola likes bright colours.

Rianna also has her dark hair pinned back today, while Nicola’s hair is loose with a few random scattered braids amidst the curls. Both are all but shaking with excitement, clearly pleased to finally be meeting their other aunt, and they start their questions almost in the same breath.

“HI AUNTY” “Do you know who we are?” “Of course she does Mama said all the things-” “Do you like it here?” “Why are you lying on the couch?” “Have you had food?” “What’s that thing on your head?” “Is your tummy sore?” “Can we hug you?” “Oh please please please!”

She laughs, gesturing for the girls to move close enough to at least cuddle them with one arm. “Of course I know who you two are, how could I not know my gorgeous nieces?” she giggles, tweaking Nicola’s nose. “My tummy is a little sore but it’s getting better, thank you for asking. Just need some rest and gentle cuddles, my darlings. And my jewellery is from your grandma. Your mama has her necklace and Aunty Calli has her bracelets.”

Rianna frowns. “Where is Aunty Calli? She hasn’t come to play with us.”

Lieca feels her smile fade and Cera steps forward to kneel beside her girls. “Now now, girls - you remember, I already told you Aunty Calli is busy. She’ll come play with you later. Besides, you’re supposed to be keeping Anya company while Miss Ona’la rests. I don’t think dragging her to the mess hall is very restful!”

The girls look briefly chastised but a soft laugh sounds from behind her and Lieca literally feels herself relax as her dear friend steps into view, purple eyes sparkling. “Nonsense! We were all hungry, so a snack was a good idea. Wasn’t it?”

It takes the two Jedi Masters only a few seconds of looking at each other to burst into tears, and Lieca suddenly has an armful of blue twi’lek as her friend drops to her knees and hugs her fiercely, her nieces stepping away again to chatter to their mother.

They break away slightly as Lieca winces, and Ona’la catches her face in her hands. “Oh my darling, I’m so glad you are alright!” she says warmly.

She smiles back and the moment is briefly broken by a small twi’lek child wriggling under Ona’la’s arms, her skin paler, eyes more blue, and lekku still growing, but unmistakably Ona’la’s eldest daughter. “Mama! Who is this?”

They both laugh, and Lieca can hear Cera giggling too. “This is my friend Lieca,” Ona’la explains patiently. “You remember us mentioning Miss Cera’s twin? Lieca, this is Anya.”

Anya peers at her curiously, wrinkling her nose. “You don’t look the same,” she says accusingly, almost sounding disappointed.

It’s the exact opposite of what Lieca’s heard most of her life so she can’t help but smile. To a child, she supposes she and Cera don’t look exactly alike anymore, especially right now with different hair and clothes, and Cera’s light makeup - and the extra five years of stress Cera has survived. “We don’t have to look the same all the time,” she says gently. “Do Rianna and Nicola look the same?”

Anya looks to where the twins are still talking to Cera, frowning. “Little bit,” she admits. “But they’re friends, I know who’s who! They’re bigger than me.”

Lieca smiles. “They’re a little older, sweetheart. You’ll be that big someday.”

Anya pouts and Ona’la giggles, kissing the top of her head. “And while I’m doing introductions, that is my youngest, Jaelin and my husband, Thexan.”

Lieca looks to where she is gesturing and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of Thexan. On the topic of identical twins, there’s no mistaking Thexan for anyone other than the Emperor’s brother; but despite their similar features, his far simpler clothing and an adorable twi’lek toddler on his hip instead of a lightsaber reassures her racing heart that it's not Arcann and she is still safe.

Not that she is afraid of Arcann, but her body distinctly does not like being impaled, and it would be nice to recover before coming face to face with him again.

Thexan is watching her warily, his grip on his daughter tightening, and she wonders if she scares him too. “Hello,” he says awkwardly, not making any movement towards her.

At the familiar hiss in her mind, she’s suddenly glad he’s not in range of her, and forces Valkorion _out_. Thexan’s body language doesn’t change, but his eyes tighten and she feels suddenly ashamed.

But the bright blue instead of molten gold reminds her she needs to talk to him - and from what Cera said, she can assume he probably knows as much as she does about the events of the past few weeks involving their siblings. Though after what happened to Arcann, she’s not exactly willing to talk to another of Valkorion’s children without someone supervising. She doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of the monster in her head.

She shakes her head to clear it of her morose thoughts. “Hello” she says tentatively. “You have beautiful daughters.”

To her amusement he blushes, shaking his head quickly. “That’s all Nala,” he says softly, sounding both proud and smitten.

Ona’la frowns at him. “Not true, my love, there’s just as much of you in them!”

As if on cue, Senya enters the room, chuckling. “Yes, which unfortunately means they inherited my nose too.”

Anya wriggles out of her mother’s arms instantly. “ _Grandma_!” she screeches in delight, barrelling towards her.

Thexan frowns at his mother, unconsciously lifting his free hand to touch his nose as Ona’la giggles at him. Senya, having knelt to catch the child sized tornado that is her granddaughter, looks up at them over Anya’s head, eyes solemn as she glances quickly towards Lieca on the couch. “I can take the children back down to the mess hall if you wish to talk,” she says quietly. “Theron and Flissa were just arriving as we left - I’m sure he could be persuaded to stay and help.”

Everyone looks to Lieca who swallows and nods in agreement, and soon all of the children are shepherded back out through the door again, though Thexan seems reluctant to let Jaelin go. The little blue twi’lek with the solemn purple eyes seems just as unhappy about being taken from her father, and she buries her face against Senya’s neck as they make their way out. Rianna and Nicola are chattering brightly to each other, and to Anya, and it doesn’t seem like they’re at all disappointed about missing out on family time; she meant to spent more time getting to know the girls before chasing them away, but she wasn’t exactly expecting Thexan straight away - and this conversation is important.

The closing of the door only increases the tension in the room and Lieca sighs after a long moment of silence. “I’m sorry he’s not gone,” she says quietly.

Thexan shrugs, arms folded and visibly nervous. “We always knew,” he says bluntly, evidently well informed by Cera prior to her return. “But… it’s appreciated.”

Ona’la steps closer to her husband, lightly touching his arm, and he smiles at her and moves his hand over hers. Lieca winces, deciding it’s best to just get it all out in the open. “I… I thought he couldn’t hurt anyone else, that he was trapped within me. But… in the Scion hideout…”

Thexan’s eyes widen, and she’s visibly reminded of the look on Arcann’s face when Calli turned around. “What?” he says faintly.

She looks down at her hands in her lap, her stomach almost cramping. “I was trying to talk to Arcann,” she admits. “I just wanted to try to give him a chance. And he wasn’t attacking me and everything was going relatively well, all things considered, but… apparently that wasn’t allowed.”

She twists her fingers together, trying to ignore the dead silence around her. “He wanted to hurt Arcann, he said all of these vicious cruel things and Arcann just… _Force preserve_ , how did you all survive him for so long?”

The question is tinged with desperation, because it’s so completely beyond her comprehension for a parent to treat their child with such loathsome disdain instead of love. She’s not really expecting a response when she looks back up, but the former prince is still watching her with sad blue eyes, visibly trying not to flinch as their eyes meet. “Surviving is different to living,” Thexan says quietly, carefully. “Endurance wasn’t a question, it was demanded. We knew that before we could crawl.”

Her smile is sad. “I hope you’re living now at least?”

He smiles back, wrapping his arm around his wife and kissing her forehead. “Definitely,” he says honestly. “I just…”

“You want your family to have this too,” she finishes quietly. He looks rather startled, and she shrugs. “It’s okay, I understand. It’s not something to be ashamed of. They’re still your family, you still love them.” Cera steps forward to kneel next to her on the couch, pointedly tapping her forehead as if it’s a door she’s expecting Valkorion to open and stick his head out to yell at her for the noise. “Cera!”

“Don’t yell at me, I’m right.”

She elbows her, and Cera squawks and falls dramatically over the back of the couch. “Well, you love most of them at least,” Lieca says dryly.

Thexan actually tries to hide a laugh in a cough, but Ona’la still looks concerned. “Did you say that he spoke to Arcann?” she asks anxiously, glancing at her husband and then back to Lieca. “How?”

Lieca looks down, twisting her fingers around again until Cera reaches over to close her hand over hers; she’s leaning against the top of the couch, resting her chin on one arm while she calms her with the other. They share a look, and Cera squeezes her hand briefly, scrunching her nose at her. “I don’t… I don’t understand how,” she says finally, turning back to Thexan and Ona’la. “He… he manifests sometimes, to me - first it was in the dream state while I was in carbonite, but then he kept appearing afterwards, once I’d woken up. Sometimes I could just... feel him there, watching, and sometimes he actively manipulated the world around me to get my attention. But nobody else ever said anything, and he never spoke to them, only me. I thought… I thought it was only me. I thought he couldn’t touch anyone else. I’m so sorry.”

Thexan’s expression is rather pinched, his eyes flat. “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault,” he says, even his voice sounding tense. “You didn’t know.”

Cera squeezes her shoulder. “None of us knew. It’s not like he tried anything like this with me.”

The room goes quiet again, and Lieca quickly moves her hand over her sister’s. She almost wishes that the worst they had to deal with was that time Cera was attacked by the Emperor and held prisoner for six months, and the guilt at that thought, however brief, makes her inhale sharply.

She closes her eyes, not wanting to feel the swell of sympathy and pity from all three of them, and represses the urge to suddenly cry. She takes a shuddering breath and opens her eyes to focus on Thexan, who definitely all but flinches away from her eyes this time. And she completely understands, but it still hurts a little.

She moves her hands back to her lap, folding them demurely. “I suppose you’re more interested in your brother though, correct?”

Thexan is so still he could be carved from stone, and even Ona’la is tense beside him. “Tell me.”

She looks down at her hands. “He was… very different to how I remember him from… before. He’s more confident as the Emperor, but he still gives off an air of uncertainty, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing and is frustrated by it.”

She tuts under her breath. “And he’s obviously not taking care of himself. A blind idiot could see the way his arm unsettles him - his posture is wrong, the muscles are too tense. He _hunches_. I don’t think the arm even fits correctly. He doesn’t use it in his natural body language, unless he’s too distracted to think about it or is fighting.”

She looks up suddenly, and this time Thexan meets her eyes without flinching. “I think it’s guilt.”

He visibly tenses. “Guilt?”

She gestures randomly. “When we were on the tower, and Val-your father was taunting him… he mentioned you. And, um, what happened. Before.”

Thexan’s thunderous expression is suddenly so like his brother’s it steals her breath in a brief moment of panic. “What do you mean?” he all but demands, Ona’la’s soft touch on his arm soothing him.

“He said you were a fake, because you _couldn’t_ be real - he couldn’t feel you anymore, you were dead. And when Valkorion pushed… he said he killed you.”

The room is completely silent.

Thexan’s eyes are nearly glittering in the light. “What?”

She makes a frustrated noise. “I was trying to deal with Valkorion, trying to stop him talking to the others. And Calli… Calli tried to help, she started yelling at him, and then she mentioned you and Arcann was so _furious_ and Valkorion kept prodding and… “ she trails off. “She spoke to you, before she left right?”

He blinks in confusion, and she sees the moment where he catches up to her circular thoughts and realises what she means. “Calli? Yes. Why?”

She really hopes he filled Ona’la in on this or she’s about to be very confused. “Thexan… his eye was blue when he saw her.”

Thexan’s eyes widen considerably. “What?”

“And it wasn’t just a trick of the light, I’ll swear by anything you want me to. It wasn’t blue when I saw him in the Scion’s hideout, it wasn’t blue when we were fighting - it was only when he saw her."

She sees him swallow, and he steps forward a half-step before stopping himself. “Tell me,” he asks hoarsely, and she nods.

 

* * *

 

It’s sometime later that Lieca starts drifting, clearly having exhausted herself during the emotionally charged conversation, and they decide to leave it there to let her sleep.

Thexan has a million thoughts running through his head and although he can tell Ona’la wants to talk and reassure him - she also knows him well enough after years of marriage to know he doesn’t need that just yet, and so she waits for him to decide. He kisses her cheek and murmurs that he’s going for a walk, but he’ll be back in their rooms soon, and she nods and goes to rescue his mother from their girls.

It’s halfway through aimless wandering around the base that he realises what he really should be doing, and turns on his heel to head back to the rooftop entrance he discovered a few weeks ago.

Thexan isn’t really expecting Calli to be hiding on the roof again. They don’t really know each other that well of course, for all of the awkward confessions she gave last time they met, but he knows enough that she would probably wouldn’t go somewhere she’s expecting someone to look for her if she’s upset.

And if he thinks she’s up here, her actual family and friends probably thought so too and so they are already there… or she’s not.

But part of him wants to check, to see with his own eyes that this girl who understands him and was supportive of him and who means _something_ to Arcann is alright. Everyone has been anxiously worried about Lieca - and rightly so, the poor woman nearly died, - but Calli was up there too. Calli saw their father too, and Calli watched her sister fighting violently with his brother, including the blow that nearly killed Lieca. He needs to check that she’s not too upset because of Arcann, at the very least, and so he huffs and pushes at the roof hatch.

To his surprise, it doesn’t even budge; looking up and squinting in the dark of the chute, he can see the hatch is completely deadlocked with what looks like an improvised electronic lock.

He frowns. Calli is a slicer, isn’t she?

Oh well, it’s not like he has anything to lose. “Calli? Is that you?” he calls upward, only realising at the last second that his voice in particular is probably the last one she wants calling for her.

One of the rare times he actually dislikes the similarities between himself and Arcann.

But after a moment he hears a little trill from the locking mechanism, and the screen shifts from red to green. He’s momentarily startled, but it just confirms his assumption and he quickly scales the last few rungs of the ladder and pushes himself up onto the roof.

“Thank you, I-” he starts stiffly, but he freezes when he spots her. She’s curled up almost in a ball against the wall, hugging her knees and visibly crying, her cheeks wet with tears. Her bright blue eyes are tinged red around the edges and she sniffs disgustingly, releasing her death grip on her legs to wipe her nose on her sleeve.

When she looks back at him, she looks so miserable that his heart actually aches. “You know, I _really_ hate your dad,” she says hoarsely, lip trembling.

It’s not what he expected to hear at all from her, but it’s a sentiment he completely agrees with and he can only nod. “Yeah, I know,” he says heavily, slowly climbing out onto the roof proper and easing the hatch closed behind him.

She sniffs again, eyes shining with tears that continue to fall down her cheeks as she watches him stand up. “I want to just blame him, you know?” she says angrily. “Your asshole father was the one who started all of this and did all those terrible things to you kids and said those awful things and I just… I wish I could just blame him.”

He steps closer and she wipes at her eyes again, seemingly determined to pretend that she can stop crying if she keeps her face clean. “But it’s not just his fault, is it?” she whispers. “My… my sister says everything is a choice. She was trying to make me feel better, ya know? But it’s just… it’s just as much my choice.”

His heart aches at the fact she’s not immediately blaming Arcann, and he slowly sits down beside her. How can she blame herself, the only woman who’s probably ever looked at Arcann and saw something only their family could see… and actually acknowledged it?

She’s still talking, miserably staring at the ground. “And so Ar-he hesitated, and Valkdoucheface attacked and Lieca, Lieca nearly _died_ and I couldn’t take the shot and _why won’t she blame me?_ ”

Thexan looks down at her sadly, a very similar scenario playing through his head from years ago. “Because she loves you,” he says quietly. The same reason he’d given Ona’la all those years ago when he’d told her about his ill-fated duel with Arcann- _I can’t stay mad at him because I love him_.

Calli bursts into fresh tears at that and before he can really think about whether or not it’s a good idea, he shifts closer to wrap his arm around her shoulders. She sobs, her entire body shaking, and turns her face into his side as if she can’t stand to face the world.

He holds her there, because he knows all too well what that feeling is like. The way the grief and the shame and the loneliness and anger all gang up on you and try to drown you. He doesn’t speak, though, because he doesn’t quite know what to say - Ona’la was always far better at coaxing people into talking about their feelings, damn it. So he rubs his hand up and down her arm and lets her wail and sob and hiccup, and after a few minutes the sobbing recedes a little, enough so that she’s trembling and gasping, hiccuping every now and then as the adrenalin begins to wear off.

He sighs. “You know,” he says carefully, “it’s okay if you blame Arcann too. I won’t be mad, I understand.”

She stiffens instantly. “I don’t want to talk about him,” she says miserably, and he realises he’d almost prefer to hear the anger in her voice from last time compared to the hollow sadness now. It’s as if something has broken in her, and drained away the fire in her heart.

“Okay,” he says quietly, tucking her closer into his side.

They sit in silence for a long, long time.

He doesn’t mention Arcann again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the lovely Ona'la, Anya, and Jaelin (as well as Thexan's personality and life after Arcann's attack) all belong to the most fabulously lovely Defira and if you want more of their canon backstories and relationships (rather than the bits I've adjusted to fit my verse), please go read her fabulous fics right now :D


	15. Firebrand

It takes her some time to calm down enough to feel ready to return inside to civilisation, but a few hours after being found on the roof by Thexan, Calli makes it back to the mess hall just in time for dinner. She made sure to wash her face and relax a bit in the privacy of her quarters before she joined the others, and she actually feels a lot better now. Bawling her eyes out on the shoulder of a strange man who seems to be the one person in existence likely to get the depth of her conflicted feelings helps a lot.

The mess hall is busy, but not crowded, and she’s thankful for the difference. As much as she’s normally a people person, the energy of a crowd just feels like a bit too much for her right now. Thexan and Theron are sitting across from each other at one of the tables, Theron looking exhausted and Thexan looking cross, but there’s no other seats free near people she actually somewhat likes and so she goes to sit down next to them.

Bowdaar must have eaten a while ago, as she can’t even see him anywhere in the hall, though she’s fairly certain the green arm gesturing wildly up near the bar can only be a half naked Geralt. What he’s doing half naked at this hour, she has no idea, and she’s not quite in the mood for his shenanigans anyway.

Both men greet her half-heartedly when she sits down, next to Thexan and across from Theron. She would’ve thought that, after this afternoon, she’d be far too embarrassed to look Thexan in the eye again, but she finds it to be a great comfort when they both look up and give her a small smile when she catches their gaze.

From what she can tell from the chatter around the base she heard on her way down to the mess hall, the _illustrious_ Alliance Commander was fast asleep in the nursery. Lieca fell asleep in the children’s room earlier, and rather than moving her, they left Ona’la with the children to keep an eye on her while Cera catches a nap too.

Which just shows it must have been a few hours since then, as Cera suddenly appears in the door to the mess hall too, eyes a little unfocused but clearly much more awake as she spots them and gracefully slides into the bench next to Theron. It shows how much they’re used to each other as he pushes his bowl towards her automatically, not even looking up as she reaches for it, and Calli is amused that Cera seems a little put out that he gave up his food without a fight. It reminds her of Vitalia and Geralt in their quieter moments, the siblings fully capable of annoying each other even on the rare occasions one of them isn’t actually speaking.

Thexan nudges her with his elbow, smiling shyly when she mock glares at him, but it’s hard to maintain the playfulness the expression requires, and reluctantly turns her attention back to her own food. Nerf stew is one of her favourites, but she’s feeling a little rundown and miserable tonight and not really that hungry.

It seems they are all a little tired, as no-one really talks, but the din of the mess hall around them does a surprising amount of good towards calming Calli down further and helping her feel settled. This sense of life is what she’s used to, surrounded by people and chattering and good feelings.

It's the little things she missed while she was hiding away on Zakuul, especially since the wretched party when she was all but trapped inside the safe house. At least beforehand, she could run free with Bowdaar all over the bar and the lower city, laughing and celebrating and feeling happy.

Surprisingly, Thexan seems to relax as she eats, and she wonders how much of his reactions to her are his feeling a vague sense of responsibility for her after the way his brother treated her… and how much is just him genuinely being a good person.

She’s fairly certain it’s mostly the latter. She doesn’t know him well, it’s true, but she’s heard the stories of the love affair between him and his now-wife, and stories of their children. True, Ona’la has a kind heart and would see the good in anyone, but she wouldn’t love someone who didn’t share it.

Calli puts her fork down next to her half eaten bowl and reaches for the small wrapped chocolate she swiped from the bowl on the counter, when Cera jerks upright in a panic. All of them jump in surprise, and Calli clears her throat. “Uh... sis?”

Cera’s eyes go wide, and she curses loudly in a stream of what seems to be an odd mix of Zakuulan and native Ralltiiran; it takes Calli a moment to realise the tirade isn’t directed at her. Her sister surges to her feet, all but knocking over the bench both she and Theron were sitting on, before she bolts for the door in a flash of what had to be Force assisted speed - no one naturally moves that fast.

Both Calli and Theron look up, blinking in confusion, but their only chance at providing an explanation is Thexan. As the chatter in the hall resumes again, people glancing their way curiously, Thexan’s entire face pales before he also leaps to his feet and follows her, his meal sloshing across the table.

Calli looks at Theron, her own confusion reflected in his face, before his eyes narrow in suspicion and he lifts one hand to his implants, the other moving to his pocket to pull out his holocom. “Holiday?” he asks tentatively.

The tiny pink hologram appears instantly, all but wringing her hands in distress. “Theron! Oh, there you are!”

He rubs his forehead. “What’s going on?” he asks, and the note of defeat in his voice almost makes Calli want to hug him, which horrifies her.

Holiday is visibly flustered. “Oh, I’m not entirely sure - I don’t monitor the children’s rooms as much as everywhere else, unless they ask for me specifically. But something’s wrong.”

Calli frowns. “The children’s rooms…?”

Theron suddenly curses too, banging his knee as he also tries to climb out from under the table, and the bench knocks over under him as he struggles to his feet.

She would laugh at his clumsiness, but she knows why he’s worried.

_Has something happened with Lieca?_

It’s a shared look between them, the only non-Force users in this family here right now, and she’s almost annoyed at how she empathises with the panic in his eyes before he turns and runs after the others, his longer legs quickly leaving her behind along with his clearly higher adrenaline.

By the time she gets to the children’s rooms, everyone else is already fairly situated. Thexan is holding his girls, Jaelin crying quietly against his shoulder and Anya all but bouncing next to him. Ona’la has Cera’s twins in her lap next to her husband, quietly chattering to them to try to calm them down as they howl like little lizard-monkeys.

Cera is kneeling on the floor next to the couch, soothing a clearly upset Flissa, and Theron is sitting next to Lieca on the couch, who’s hunched over with her head in her hands, all but inconsolable.

Calli blinks in horror as a flicker of lightning runs down Lieca’s arm and she sobs louder, before Theron quickly pulls her into his arms, gently stroking her hair and murmuring to her. Flissa pulls away from her aunt and climbs up on the couch too, somehow inserting herself into the hug and patting Lieca’s face.

Cera spots Calli looking on in confusion and gestures for her to follow her back outside, looking even more exhausted than she had in the mess hall. As soon as the door closes, her sister exhales. “She’s fine, she’s just scared,” she says quickly. “She woke up and thought she saw Valkorion hovering over the girls, and she freaked out.”

Calli’s blood runs cold at that statement, and she feels a sudden wave of fury. “Was he?”

Cera seems vaguely startled at the vehemence of her question, but shakes her head. “Flissa, Anya and my girls all say they didn’t see anything. But Lieca is… _Force_ , you _know_ how she is with kids, she wouldn’t dream of hurting them - especially all of our girls. And she’s already so worried about Valkorion… I fear he’s playing tricks on her. She just needs some time. She’s already begged that we don’t leave her alone with the kids or even Thexan. I don’t think Theron or Flissa will let her out of their sight for awhile now, though.”

Calli frowns back towards the room, the closed door between them just obviously pointing out how helpless she is when it comes to helping her sister right now. “When… when he appeared on the tower, I could see him too,” she says quietly, not looking at Cera. “So if the girls can’t see him - and they all have the Force - then he must not be really there.”

Cera doesn’t react with any surprise, and with a sudden sting she realises Lieca must have already talked about it, and _fuck it all_ does that mean Cera knows too and she feels her face flame with fresh embarrassment.

Cera doesn’t seem to notice. “I agree. We’ll try to keep an eye on it all - between all of us Force users, we can help her as much as we can. I’ve already asked Jahlia to come visit, she has experience with Force ghosts in her mind after all. Jezhara and Lana have also promised to come talk to her later, to try to help her control it or... him, as the case may be. I think it’s mostly because she’s still healing - once she’s had more time, I think it will be easier for her.”

Of _course_ the bloody Force users have already got things under control. It’s not like Lieca needs some silly slicer who was partially to blame for her injuries helping out - she’s only made things worse, after all.

Something of her feelings must show in her expression, because Cera suddenly frowns. “Calli? Are you alright?”

She flinches, and tries to hide it immediately. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Of course. Why do you ask?”

Cera gives her a flat look, apparently unconvinced, but clearly decides not to address it. “I need your help with something,” she admits. “I’m assuming you know of Firebrand?”

Calli folds her arms. “Isn’t that our least favourite anarchist?”

Cera coughs a laugh. “Yeah. We’ve been keeping an eye on Kaliyo, but we haven’t had the resources to track her down and stop her yet. But she’s trying to get her hands on plans to most of the city infrastructure on Zakuul via the Overwatch - we found the basic plans in the data Holiday lifted from Arcann, but we need the real deal,” she says before frowning and waving her hand. “And of course, it would be nice if we could stop her trying to blow up The Spire in the process. She seems to want to use the Overwatch system controls to destroy huge parts of the city.”

Calli leans against the wall behind her. “Admit it, you just like ruining Kaliyo’s day.”

Cera is clearly making an effort to look innocent. “I have no idea what you mean,” she says in a sing-song voice. “I am simply interested in protecting innocent civilians caught in the schemes of a violent anarchist.”

Calli raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. What’s the plan to save all these helplessly swooning civilians then?”

Cera shifts her hands to her hips. “We want the city schematics, and word on the street is that Kaliyo’s in with the Overwatch administrator.”

“Okay, so, just a small suggestion, but never say ‘ _word on the street_ ’ ever again. You’re a married mother of two in her thirties, and none of the padawans think you’re cool, Master Amell.”

Cera makes a rude gesture, but she’s smiling. “We can use her to get into the tower, get the schematics for ourselves, and stop her from whatever she’s actually trying to do.”

She frowns again. “I know Bowdaar needs to head back to the city anyway, and I could use the best slicer we’ve got to help me out. Nobody knows Zakuulan systems better than you. Well, maybe the droids, but T7’s busy half-running Bowdaar’s people while he’s away.” Her expression turns sly, and she puts on a dramatically wheedling voice. “ _Come on_ , come sass Kaliyo with me.”

“What, _you’re_ going? What about Lieca?”

Cera smiles. “She’ll be fine, hun. Having me here isn’t necessarily going to help her more than anyone else. If it's emotional support she needs, she’s got Theron just as much as she’s got me right now - and as we’ve proven, I can still back her up across planets if I need to. And there’s a lot more Force users here to look out for her now too, healthwise and, uh... spiritually. We’ve got it under control.”

Her sister then sighs. “And admittedly, I want to send Saria to rein in Kaliyo, but as a Chiss she’ll stand out too much on Zakuul. Nobody else really knows that damn Rattataki asshole, and if we let Doc do it, he’ll just try to seduce her again and get himself blown up,” she says dryly. “Plus, word’s getting out about ‘ _the Outlander_ ’ potentially being dead despite our little parade when you guys arrived. Easiest way to prove otherwise is to show her out and about, but Lieca’s not ready to go back in the field. That means it’s my turn. Hooray for identical twins.”

Calli’s eyebrow shifts higher. “What are _you_ going to do?”

Cera rolls her eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m kinda pretty good with my lightsaber, so I don’t know, I _presume_ I would be at least decent backup for a slicer and an anarchist. And also the whole ‘ _stop them killing each other and blowing up a whole city_ ’ thing. Kind of a Jedi thing to do.”

Her voice then noticeably softens. “You don’t have to come, of course - I can grab T7 if I need to. But I figured you’d be more likely to want to destroy a few parts of Zakuul along the way.”

Calli’s eyes narrow. “Wait, what?” she asks, before the dawning realisation of horror sets in fully. “Wait... you _know_?! Did Holiday tell _everyone_?”

Cera sighs. “Yes, I know. And no, Holiday didn’t tell me, Lieca did. And that’s a very bad way of starting your defence of said thing actually happening, you already sound guilty.”

She stares at her sister, blushing. “Why the fuck did she tell you?”

Cera rolls her eyes again. “Because, darling, we both actually care about you and your wellbeing. And well, Lieca is more of the ‘ _supportive, let’s talk about it_ ’ type’, whereas I am more of a ‘ _I love you and of course I support you, but let’s go trash his stuff_ ’ type.”

She can feel herself smiling a tiny bit at the idea, and Cera grins broadly when she spots it. “Plus, you know, that whole Force bond that creeps you out - I _kinda_ knew a little bit already. Better to have details now. Well not _those_ details, spare me, but details on ‘ _hey why is Lieca thinking about this, that’s kinda weird_ ’,” she says, before her grin turns sly. “I mean, of _course_ , spill on the other details if you want - kinda doubt you spoke about that with either Lieca or Thexan - but yeah. _Force_ , at least tell me he was _good_.”

Calli can feel her face going redder, but she quickly nods, biting her lip, and Cera crows in triumph. “Well, there’s that at least!” she says, all but cackling in delight. “Come on, we’ll head to Zakuul in the morning. You find Bowdaar and let him know, okay?”

 

* * *

 

It’s been a few days after their return to Zakuul, and Arcann is sitting on the throne to review the previous day's takings, trying to keep himself focused on things more befitting of an emperor’s attentions.

Vaylin has sent through a few reports on the knights she’s been training - and uncomfortably detailed notes on those who are not surviving the process.

They have had no luck in tracking the Outlander or her precious Alliance, despite the dramatic scenes of the last few weeks including the attack on Asylum. No word of the Gravestone entering any systems either, which is suspicious in its own way.

How can such an organisation completely escape the notice of his forces? How can no-one know where they are?

 _Someone_ has to know, and someone isn’t talking.

It’s just further proof of insubordination from within his empire. He had previously tolerated the obvious developments of ‘ _discrete_ ’ military installations and ‘ _personal_ ’ fleets, all of which flew in direct violation of the treaties generously established by Zakuul.

But no more.

The escape of the Outlander confirms that the Alliance has more power than he realised, not just individual family members desperately trying to save one person from his prisons. They had the resources to locate and repair a centuries old Zakuulan ship, literally in the middle of the swamps of his own planet, and remained virtually undetected until their escape. They had the resources to escape to various worlds before teaming up on Asylum, and a dedicated team of individuals were capable of fighting off his own forces before they escaped again.

Perhaps the Alliance was supported by one of the military installations he had previously politely ignored. Perhaps one of the so-called ‘ _personal_ ’ fleets was actually working for the Alliance. He can no longer take that chance. He must act.

He will no longer tolerate such blatant disregard for the peace treaties he generously bestowed upon the Republic and the lesser Empire. The Eternal Empire will not accept this defiance any longer.

He has already dispatched the Eternal Fleet to worlds in the five sectors with the highest number of illegal military installations. The Fleet will quickly make an example of those worlds, destroying every military base and ship they find. The Alliance will have nowhere to hide, and nowhere to run once he announces that they are to blame for this retaliation.

While he waits for the reports from the Fleet, currently predominantly in hyperspace, he is still doing his own research about the Outlander and her known associates. The fact that most of the information on his datapad at present is about Calli is pure coincidence. She was the most obvious link to the Alliance, the most well-known associate. He is looking for her to track the Alliance, obviously.

The mocking voice in his head sounds a lot like his father and it makes him shudder briefly.

He switches back to his datapad quickly to focus on something else, locating the files on Calli’s Wookiee companion, Bowdaar. They have been virtually inseparable over the past decade, and he even followed her to Zakuul. It was much easier to find where Calli had been hiding over the past few years when she had a distinctive Wookiee with her.

Apparently the two of them had taken to running a bar in the Old World, eventually hosting the revived Eternal Championship. There are no records of Calli entering the competition - and a good thing too, his nerves flaring while he researched that possibility - but Bowdaar was a frequent gladiator in the events and remained undefeated.

As with all things about the two of them, it predominantly seemed to be a front - it took a lot more work to find their true goals. They had been freeing slaves from the competition and securing either lodgings on world or passage off world for those they freed.

The majority of the footage of the bar itself seems to have been corrupted, presumably due to a fault in the cameras, but the specific absence of either Calli or Bowdaar in the available footage indicates that it was deliberate.

Frustrating yes, but also rather impressive. They have done a significantly better job of hiding their tracks once they landed on Zakuul as opposed to videos he found of the years before - but word of mouth is much harder to hide than video footage.

And he would be lying if he said he hasn’t immediately searched for all of the data from the bar since the night of the gala - and felt his heart sink at the complete absence of Calli in all of the footage. There had been several scenes of Bowdaar, including a brief conversation where a patron asked him where the ‘ _cute little redhead_ ’ was and Bowdaar had angrily growled in reply, sending the man scurrying off.

He wonders why that particular footage remained intact - compared with the corruptions of most other footage of Calli and Bowdaar over the years, it seems almost deliberate.

Of course, he can’t assume that Calli was deliberately not in the bar at any point after the party, that would be ridiculous and rather vain of him. It’s more likely that any video of her was deleted. And although it’s not entirely helpful to the Empire, he’s briefly pleased that the Alliance is capable of protecting their own.

Although, it’s probably Calli herself doing all of that work - he knew now that she was a slicer, but to be capable of the amount of damage she caused to his own private network, and to delete so much data about herself, is quite admirable.

The datapad suddenly beeps with a new alert, and he frowns as it pulls up another video. Its time stamp indicates it was pulled from the day before, and his breath catches like his chest is caught in an iron clamp as he recognises both Calli _and_ Lieca at the bar.

The little astromech droid serving drinks bumps Calli, almost seeming to bounce excitedly on its wheels before Calli kneels down to hug it, clearly just as happy to see the droid as it is to see her. Lieca gestures at the Wookiee behind the bar and grins before downing the shot placed before her with practiced ease.

He’s a little stunned that she’s so clearly recovered so soon after the Control Spar, but he supposes with a twinge of bitterness that with her near miraculous Force healing abilities it’s hardly surprising. If only everyone was capable of walking off such devastating injuries, and he’s certainly not thinking of Thexan as he watches her move about with no indication he tried to kill her a week or so ago.

Lieca sets her shot glass back down on the bar and shifts her attention to a datapad, describing some sort of strategy by the way she moves her hands as though pointing out locations on a map. She seems so... physical? All of her body language is far more elaborate than it had seemed when they’d spoken on Asylum recently, more... he hesitates to say aggressive, but there's certainly something more confident in her gestures. She finishes up whatever explanation she has been making before turning away, as though to let the others say goodbye.

Calli then all but jumps into the Wookiee’s arms, gleefully hugging him close while he roars and ruffles her head as she breaks free, and the deep affection between them actually makes him smile behind his mask.

He shifts his attention to the details of the bar, staring at the provided address, and tries to decide what to do.

“What are you doing, brother?”

He represses the urge to jump a mile through sheer willpower, looking up at the sudden appearance of his curious sister. “Hmm?”

Vaylin rolls her eyes. “What are you doing? You seem awfully interested.”

The footage is indisputable proof that Calli and Lieca are back on Zakuul for whatever reason, and the Wookiee is clearly someone that could be used against them - and he knows exactly where Bowdaar is. It would take mere moments to organise a team to capture him and force a confrontation with the sisters. It is of vital importance that they find the Outlander and dismantle the threat she represents to his power, and Bowdaar probably knows where she is - or can draw her out of hiding if captured.

But…

“Reports from our occupation of Alderaan,” he says, affecting a bored tone. “They are finally agreeing to increase the export of the ‘ _maple syrup_ ’ you like so much.”

Bowdaar means something important to Calli.

Vaylin tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowed for a moment before a delighted grin crosses her face. “Wonderful! I want another box of candies then,” she says.

He nods. “Of course,” he says gruffly, fingers surreptitiously deleting the video he just found.

It wouldn’t be fair to hurt the Wookiee to find the girls. He can find another lead. Zakuul is a fairly big place, but if they are here for a specific purpose, surely he can find them.

 

* * *

 

Theron wakes suddenly in the middle of the night, not entirely sure what had startled him awake. The room is dark and silent, no evidence of intrusion, and after a moment of frozen vigilance he accepts that everything is alright. There is nothing at all other than the soft breaths of the woman pressed against his side.

Lieca had always been essentially a portable heater, and it’s pleasing to know that that hasn’t changed. It’s more pleasing that she’s even there in the first case of course, but the warmth factor is definitely high on his list of priorities, given how cold the room around them is.

He takes a moment to just watch her, blonde hair falling loose over her face as it’s no longer bound back in her sleep. It’s been a few days since she _finally_ made it to Odessen and back into his arms, and he’s slowly starting to relax and accept that she’s actually _home_. It helps that he’s spending most of his time with her, though it took a little persuasion from her to convince him that it was fine to stay in her bed too.

He grins at the memory of her delightedly teasing him for having to coax him into her bed in the first place, slyly grinning at his fluster. It’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep beside her - Force knows he’s slept better the last few nights than he has in _years_ \- but he was worried about aggravating her… injuries.

It still makes his heart stop to consider how close he came to losing her before she even made it back to them, but he’s able to repress the instinct to check on her wound for the millionth time. It helps that he is ridiculously comfortable right now and doesn’t want to move.

Plus, Lieca said she was okay. And although he knows she has a very bad tendency to lie about her health to try to stop others from worrying about her - this time he believes her. Fine, and some of the other healers checked her out and said the same thing, including Ona’la, who couldn’t lie convincingly to save her life.

He tenses as she shifts against him, restless in her dreams, and realises her hand has somehow snuck up under his shirt while they were sleeping; her hand is warm where it’s pressed against his stomach, and he bites back a groan. Even half-asleep, she’s determined to tease him, and stars, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

She makes a soft noise next to him, her forehead scrunching up, and he reaches out to gently brush a lock of hair out of her face. “Shhhh,” he tries to soothe, trying to stop the feeling of dread her restless state brings.

There hasn’t been an… _incident_ since the day she thought he was attacking the children, but Valkorion is clearly still bothering her. She’s too easily distracted at the moment, her temper far nearer the surface than it used to be, and overall she’s restless even when she’s sleeping. Of course, she’s still as sweet as he remembers, and just as capable of stopping his heart with a soft smile, but it’s hard to ignore what’s obviously changed.

It’s hard, holding her in his arms and feeling like a fool, because although she’s still all but the same, he knows that he has changed. The years without her have been _hard_ , for the loss of his friend more than the loss of his lover. He missed her, desperately, and it’s still baffling that she’s _real_ and actually here beside him. And that she still wants the same things she did before, that she still wants _him_.

Honestly, at this point he’s fairly convinced that it’s impossible for him to go more than a day without revealing how much of an idiot he is, and how silly she makes him, but she still always chooses to hold him close and actually seems comforted by his nerves sometimes. It’s… reassuring that no matter what clumsy things he says, she still cares about him, and wants to be with him, even if he doesn’t understand _why_.

She makes another noise next to him, face clearly showing her distress even through her sleep, and he winces. Prior experience confirms she’d rather be woken up than wait through this. “Lieca?” he asks hoarsely. “Lieca!”

She startles awake, and his heart breaks at the way her eyes are already glowing white before they swirl back to the familiar blue. As always, she seems surprised, taking a few moments to get her bearings while her eyes focus, and he feels guilt for that, but he knows she needs this.

He’s expecting her to wrinkle her nose at him and tell him she’s fine before snuggling back down to sleep, while he pretends not to notice how tightly she clings to him to ward off the nightmares. He’s not expecting her to instead stare at him intently before suddenly kissing him, the hand on his stomach providing her leverage to move over him.

Well, hey, he’s certainly not complaining in the slightest, but it’s a little unexpected. She breaks away eventually, and starts scattering kisses all over his face, presumably to make him laugh from the pleased sound she makes when he finally gives in to the urge to chuckle. “Hey hey, what’s up?”

She doesn’t answer him other than to kiss him hard again, and he moans softly before clicking that she’s being a lot more forceful than she usually is and he pulls away. “Lieca, that’s not really an answer,” he says hoarsely, groaning as she shifts her focus to his neck.

She mumbles something against him, her tongue flicking out to make him moan and arch his back, and he’s too dazed to focus. “Mmm? What was that?” he asks when he can think again.

She stops suddenly, sitting up on his hips, and even in the low lighting the blue of her eyes captures his attention immediately. “I just want to _forget_ ; he won’t _leave_ ,” she says suddenly, voice quiet and distraught, and he feels his own heart ache for her.

He reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear before moving his hand to cup her face and stroke her cheek. “Oh sweetheart,” he breathes.

She sniffs, clearly upset and he winces. “Liss… I’ll do whatever you want. But do you actually want this, or are you just looking for a distraction? I don’t want this unless you do, you know that.”

Her lack of response is her answer and he sighs, feigning melodrama. “See, she only wants me when she’s got nothing else to do,” he teases quietly, and she immediately moves back down to hug him tightly.

“Not true,” she whispers against his skin, fingers digging into his sides. “I’m just…-”

“-I know. It’s fine, I promise. I’m just teasing,” he says, kissing her hair. “Can I do anything?” he offers helplessly.

She sighs against him, and he shivers at the warm air on his neck. “Just… talk to me. Please?”

He blanks. “What about?”

She huffs a laugh. “Anything. I like listening to your voice.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so is _that_ why you get all flustered when I-”

She quickly swats his shoulder, but laughs. “Hush you,” she says quickly, and he can almost feel her blushing.

He grins. “Anything in particular?”

She settles on him more comfortably, still holding him close. “Tell me a story from the SIS,” she says softly. “Or about my family. Anything.”

He smiles and quickly obliges, choosing an SIS story first as it’s more comfortable than sharing anecdotes about the years she missed with her family, and before long she’s quietly sleeping against him again, long soft breaths against his chest while he strokes her hair.

It’s a bit longer before worry lets him sleep too, but since it gives him time to watch her at peace, he doesn’t really mind.

 

* * *

 

Calli is having a really bad day.

It didn’t take long for her and Cera to find Kaliyo after leaving Bowdaar at the bar, and their first meeting had gone absolutely wonderfully… if you were using some sort of weird opposite way of describing things.

Luckily she hadn’t had much to do with Kaliyo before, but even though she knew enough about her from the others, she really had expected… more.

Of course, actually _saying_ that out loud had apparently annoyed Kaliyo a lot.

_Kaliyo snarls, pointing her gun at Calli’s head. “If I shoot you, you won’t have to worry about it.”_

_Trusting Cera’s reactions, despite her angry glare, she merely scowls at the self-styled anarchist. “If you fire, you’ll be dead in seconds.”_

_Kaliyo spares a brief glance for Cera, who is still standing there completely unimpressed, and fakes a pout. “Aw. Tell you what - no weapons, you and me. Hands and teeth.”_

_Cera sighs heavily and steps forward, her lightsaber already in her hand. “Tone it down,” she says wearily. “Or at least let me sell tickets first!”_

The memory still makes her scowl, even as she watches Kaliyo cold-rigging detonators, her fingers itching to take over and do it properly. But they were playing _nice_ and pretending to _help_ and Force-fucking- _damnit_ it’s hard!

She can feel Cera’s eyes on her again, well aware of what she’s thinking, and she turns away in annoyance.

She can’t even fucking take out the cameras, because they’re trying to be seen by the Empire so that there’s as much ‘ _proof_ ’ as possible that Lieca is alright. And it’s really freaking her out to see Cera posing as Lieca, with her hair pinned back demurely with Lieca’s headpiece, and clad in flowing Jedi robes rather than sensible long tunics and pants.

From the way Cera keeps fiddling with the sleeves, she suspects it annoys Cera too. She keeps toying with her lightsaber too, as though the different coloured crystal offends her.

The nearby advertising terminal flickers to life, the gaudy music replaced with a much more pointless proclamation from the fucking Emperor himself, and Calli is so annoyed at the way she jumps at his stupid voice that she scowls and immediately stomps over to kick the terminal in childish rage.

She stops only when she registers Cera standing next to her, vaguely realising Kaliyo appears to have moved into the next room to start on the next target.

Cera seems amused, and it just makes her angrier. “Calli, darling, what are you doing?”

She scowls, kicking the terminal again. “He’s such a fucking asshole,” she snarls, glaring up at the by-now-long-silent hologram that seems frozen in place, possibly due to the damage she’s causing the hardware. “And everyone keeps treating me like some broken-hearted damsel and I hate it and I don’t care and I certainly don’t need him!”

Cera nods sagely next to her before pausing. “Calli, you’ve been kicking that terminal for about ten minutes now. Doesn’t your foot hurt?” she asks kindly, before mischief enters her tone. “Also, ten minutes over one night? Please, you can’t fool me. What did he even do, give you some sort of hour-long orgasm?”

Calli’s jaw drops and she swings around to face her sister in bug-eyed horror, but Cera looks merely curious and gleeful rather than unsettled.

Her sister’s eyes are even fucking twinkling, _ugh_. “Besides, if you’re really struggling, you know you could just happily order a personal replacement because, you know, no stupid complications to worry about like emperor, intergalactic murderer, or He Who Is Too Grumpy when it’s controlled by batteries! I’ll even help you claim it on the Alliance budget, I can get anything past Requisitions.”

Calli feels her face heat up, usually absolutely fine with talk about sex, but not really from her older sister. Cera’s wicked grin makes her feel like she’s losing this conversation though, which absolutely can’t happen. “Wow, I can’t believe you think I don’t already have that completely under control,” she challenges in return, looking for that spark of discomfort on Cera’s face to relish in sisterly torture.

But when Cera does nothing other than blink at her she sighs. Years of marriage to Doc have apparently desensitised her. “For fuck’s sake, do _not_ give me your recommendations for vibrators, I can _see_ you thinking it!”

Cera just cackles, ignoring Kaliyo who re-enters the room and is looking at her like she has two heads. “What the fuck is with her?”

Calli is fairly certain her cheeks are still red and just whips around to leave the room. “Nothing. Let’s keep moving.”

 

* * *

 

Arcann taps his fingers on the arm of his couch, impatiently sifting through his mail for the day to discover if anything there was even worth his attention.

No reports on the Outlander or Calli or whatever it is they are doing here on Zakuul. Of course, it has only been a few hours, but the lack of anything concrete from Intelligence is still fairly annoying.

He rubs the bridge of his nose in distaste, fingers carefully not touching the exposed scars. He’s starting to feel another headache coming on, and despite his stubborn refusal to acknowledge it, it doesn’t seem to be going away.

Thinking of the Amell sisters reminds him of their mention of the letters sent to him by the false Thexan, apparently now on the Alliance payroll rather than just the Republic, and he suddenly feels the urge to check on them.

Not that it really matters in the end, since Thexan is _not real_ and just… wishful thinking on his part that this _pretender_ could maybe be… no. It doesn’t matter if the Alliance saw the letters. He’s merely checking if his data was compromised.

All the letters and videos are still there, safely stored and uncorrupted… wait, there’s a new one. A new video, sent yesterday.

He knows it’s just going to be typical Alliance propaganda in relation to the… _incident_ on Asylum, but he can’t stop himself activating the video anyway, sending it to the interface on his caf table.

It’s the same thing he tells himself each time.

The hologram of the pretender is standing there with his eyes closed, holding the bridge of his nose as the video starts. “ _Arcann. I think you already know why I’m sending this video to you_ ,” he sighs, eyes still closed. “ _I have had a few days to think about what I want to say and I still struggle to find the words._ ”

He moves his hand away from his face, the frustration obvious. “ _Just… what were you even thinking? I know… I know it’s hard, trying to escape from Father. Esne, I_ understand. _The Amell sisters said he spoke to you and I can’t imagine what that was like. At least I only have to deal with the shadows_.”

The hologram sighs, folding its arms. “ _But you had to make a choice and I… I don’t want to believe you made the choice you did. You played right into his hands, Arcann! You have all of these opportunities, and it’s hard, of course it’s hard, but Arcann, please. You have to stop blaming yourself. You have to stop letting him guilt you and manipulate you and just… I am sorry. I’m sorry for what happened, I’m sorry he won’t leave, I’m sorry I cannot be there for you._ ”

He then pauses, pulling an expression Arcann can only describe as _disappointed_ and his stomach almost rebels in disgust. “ _I want to keep believing, brother, but you make it so hard sometimes, and you are being ridiculous. And the only reason I am not shouting at you right now is that Anya is asleep in the next room and she will insist on being included if I wake her_.”

Fake Thexan sighs again, rubbing his temple. “ _I… I spoke to Calli, when she first arrived here_ ,” he says quietly, and Arcann realises he is holding his breath. “S _he literally ran into me, even. I must say, it was the first time I have had someone scream and try to punch me as soon as they recognised my face… our face, though._ ”

He shrugs, smiling ruefully. “ _Luckily I managed to save some of my dignity by stopping her before she hit me, but she still managed to trip me and knock me to the ground before she realised who I actually was. But we eventually talked and I asked her what had happened and…_ ”

He frowns. “ _I do not know all of the details - Force, don’t even think about telling me, either - but she… Arcann, what are you doing? Just because I have a wife and daughters does not mean I understand women, and I particularly do not understand women I barely know crying because my idiotic brother hurt them_ ,” he says, making a frustrated noise. “ _You are so_ dense _sometimes, you know that right?_ ”

Something seems to distract him for a moment and he looks to the side in surprise. “ _Yes, I was just getting to that, thank you_ ,” he says politely before turning back to the screen. “ _Arcann, as frustrated as I am right now, I of course also still care. I have not had much of a chance to speak with Lieca yet, but the first time we spoke she made it clear that you have not been taking care of yourself and are not properly treating your injuries on an ongoing basis. Which is ridiculous and I am rather annoyed with you for that, but I digress. Therefore, she has demanded that I send through the attached documents detailing various physiotherapy exercises for you, as drafted by Doctor Dia’ayla and Master Lieca Amell, in order to be allowed to send this video today_.”

He grins sheepishly. “ _I of course could send the video anyway, but you seem to have annoyed the AI in charge of communications here, so permission makes things a lot easier. She’s more likely to pass on my messages if both Lieca and myself ask her nicely._ ”

The hologram flickers, and the pretender folds his arms again. “ _Please actually read the documents, and stop being reckless with your own health. There’s no-one to rebel against anymore. Except, apparently, your own common sense._ ”

He then smiles, and Arcann hisses in a breath in response. “ _Just… please be smarter. And don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them._ ”

The video abruptly ends and Arcann realises he has crushed his forgotten datapad in his hand. He curses angrily and forces his fingers to unclench, his rage growing at the slight delay between his intention and his fingers actually moving.

Why would she go to the effort of reaching out again, and through the pretender at that? Why would she be trying to _help_ him?

His arm is fine!

He desperately needs an outlet, and he’s panicking and _furious_ and he doesn’t know what to do.

Father feels all too close sometimes, even here in his rooms where he’s usually _safe_.

He shakes the thought off in disgust, and the sudden beeping of the alert on his terminal distracts him, detailing the results of the Eternal Fleet’s attack on the first of the five worlds recently invaded.

If he focuses on the clinical reports and the flames from the vids, maybe he won’t have to think about the Alliance or the disappointed look in Thexan’s eyes anymore.

 

* * *

 

Calli sighs in annoyance, trying to focus on slicing through the Overwatch mainframe while actually watching Kaliyo and her sister argue.

She’s mildly amused that Kaliyo didn’t see this coming, but her spitfire rage at Cera denying her her murderous petty revenge is also just so fucking exhausting. It’s childish, and if Calli is the one thinking that, then you know things are bad.

Although she and Cera had agreed to leave the detonators on the power junctions alone - too high risk to slip anything useful onto the detonators that wouldn’t make any explosions worse and that Kaliyo wouldn’t notice - Calli has been keeping a close eye on the bombs Kaliyo had crafted, ostensibly for the droid command consoles but neither of them trust her.

Just in case, she was able to remotely access Kaliyo’s network in her apartment, so hopefully she can stop anything the Rattataki tries.

Admittedly Calli's also a little curious about how the city would cope without droids for a few hours, but she’s also not mean-spirited enough to try, no matter how much she hates their stupid Emperor. Innocent people depend on those droids, the sick and the elderly and the disabled. It’s all fun and games when it’s just the rich, bored brats they’re bothering, but she’s not gonna do something that will actually hurt people.

Before they entered the droid command centre, Kaliyo had hung back while Cera was scouting ahead, and asked her why she was here. The lack of sarcasm in her question had surprised her, and she actually found herself answering in kind. “Zakuul has taken years of my life. I want them back.”

Kaliyo seemed pleased at the answer before providing her own, and Calli would almost sympathise - except she was here on Zakuul to save her sister’s life. Kaliyo was here because she was pissy the war had divided Imperial Intelligence and caused Saria to cut her loose, and she wanted some entertainment and revenge.

She thinks of the way she wants to punch Arcann in his stupid face, but it’s not the same thing - her betrayal is personal, Kaliyo’s is not. They are _not_ the same.

She’s dragged from further introspection by the click of Kaliyo’s rifle as she points it at Cera, who looks even more unamused now. “Give it a rest,” Cera warns, hands on her hips and quite close to her lightsaber.

Kaliyo sneers. “Come on, _Outlander_ , everyone knows you wouldn’t hurt a gizka. You can’t threaten me.”

They’re all distracted by the sudden hiss of the nearby door, and the large man that strides through it, flanked by Skytroopers, looks even angrier than Kaliyo does. “Kaliyo! What are you doing?!”

She huffs and tunes them out, fingers moving over the keys faster while Cera slowly moves to stand guard just in front of her. She absolutely tries not to think of the last time one of her sisters stood guard over her while she tried to slice through a Zakuulan network, because the last thing she needs is to be distracted wondering if Arcann is gonna come striding through the door any second now.

She’s just finishing the download of the data they came for and the standard ‘ _wipe-clean_ ’ of her keystrokes when she hears the hiss of Cera’s lightsaber and the sudden flash of memory makes her freeze in a panic.

But the sizzle of blaster bolts rebounding on Cera’s lightsaber clicks her brain back into gear, and she whirls around in time to see the Skytroopers and the Overwatch administrator crumpled on the ground, Kaliyo’s rifle still pointed with unnerving directness at the man’s head.

She’s hissing about her plan, strikingly similar to an enraged nexu as she all but spits her fury, pacing in front of his body.

But Cera is faster, and uses the Force to pull the detonator out of her grasp and into her own hand. “No, Kaliyo, we’re done here,” she says quietly, her lightsaber still glowing in front of her. She’s always liked the colour of Cera’s lightsaber, a bright blue-purple that lights up differently in a swirl of colour whenever she moves it. It seems wrong to see her with the clearer purple of Lieca’s.

Kaliyo lunges for the detonator and Cera crushes the device instantly in her fist, making sure to flick one of the pieces at Kaliyo’s head at her snarl of fury. “You didn’t think we were seriously going to let you just destroy half the city in a childish temper tantrum, did you?” Cera asks dryly. “You’d think we were some stereotypical Jedi or something, just letting our allies do whatever they wanted. Sorry babe, we actually use our brains.”

Kaliyo gapes at her and Cera grins. “But thanks for the access to the Overwatch command centre! I’m sure that saved a few hops in the chain, didn’t it Cal?”

Calli steps forward, her expression the mirror of her sister’s. “Yeah, thanks Firebrand,” she says cheerfully, cautiously staying behind Cera in case Kaliyo starts moving that rifle again.

“You used me!” Kaliyo snarls.

Cera shrugs. “Like you weren’t planning on doing the exact same thing? Just because we were smarter than you, no need to be bitter.”

Kaliyo lifts her rifle and before any of them can blink Cera has thrown it across the room and all but pounced on Kaliyo, her lightsaber hovering over her when she tries to lunge at her. “Uh-uh, don’t even think about it,” the Jedi warns, still grinning.

Kaliyo glares up at her. “As if you’d fucking try it, _Jedi_ ,” she snarks.

Cera raises an eyebrow. “Well, you were planning to bomb an entire city. You wouldn’t be the first,” she says quietly, not moving.

Calli moves closer to them, and Kaliyo turns slightly desperate eyes to her. “So what, are you just going to kill me here then? Certainly taking after your _boyfriend_ , aren’t you?”

Calli has her blaster pistol in her hand before she realises it, pointing it at Kaliyo’s face with unnerving accuracy before Cera makes a soft noise. “Calli…”

Calli doesn’t look away from the smirking anarchist. “She’s just going to start again as soon as we leave,” she says shakily. “And she knows too much. She can’t be trusted.”

Kaliyo bares her teeth. “What, that you fucked the Emperor? You really think I’m the only one that knows that?”

The moment would surely have ended in violence if Cera hadn’t intervened. “Oh turtledove you say the darndest things!” she says brightly, and they both turn to look at her with matching expressions of horror and confusion.

When she sees she has their attention, her smile widens. “ _My darling honeybuns, it’s been so long since we last spoke and I miss you desperately! I eagerly await your return so that we can finally open that club on Nar Shaddaa together!_ ”

Calli is pretty certain her sister has lost her mind, but a glance at the Rattataki still on the ground shows it might mean something to her, from the angry flush on her cheeks. “Hey, wait just a second-”

“ _-Love biscuit! I finally bought that house on Dromund Kaas, and I cannot wait to hold you again my sweet! It has been too long since I have looked upon your beautiful face-_ ”

“-Have you been you reading my _mail_?!-”

“ _-my precious, my apartment on Alderaan is so empty without you. When will you finally return to my arms? I have heard the most salacious rumours about you but I do not believe them for a moment!_ ” Cera continues, still grinning broadly. “Or or! _Firebrand, my love for you burns hotter than the flames you caused along the Financial District last night. Please, return to my arms so I may show you the depth of my passion. I have all your pictures from the holonet._ ”

Kaliyo’s face is steadily growing redder, while Cera only looks more delighted. “Shall I go on, or do you require me to offer false promises to persuade you to my cause too, _love muffin?_ ”

Calli blinks. “Umm… love muffin? Seriously?”

Cera sighs. “At least she never claimed her conquests were smart,” she says cheerfully, looking back at the clearly horrified anarchist. “So, turtledove, fancy joining our cause for a time? I know your precious studs would _love_ to know where you’ve been hiding the last few years hmm? Since you’re so fascinated with bars, I’m sure you could quite easily help run ours.”

Kaliyo scowls at her. “I’m not going to run your fucking bar! What do I look like, some dumb cantina bimbo?”

Cera sighs again. “Well, you’re openly denying an armed Jedi the only pacifist response to this situation that won’t result in more innocent deaths so… yeah. You’re looking pretty dumb here.”

Calli snorts, and Kaliyo curses wildly.

 

* * *

 

Arcann kicks the table on his way past, hurting his toe more than actually settling his rage, but it somehow does make him feel a little better. Pain helps him focus.

There had been another gala tonight, officially for the start of the Festival of Aivela, but unofficially to celebrate the defeat of the Alliance at Asylum, for the gossipmongers at least.

Arcann is obviously well aware that Lieca is alive - even though he’s studiously ignoring _how_ he knew before she was spotted at Bowdaar’s bar - but decided to magnanimously ignore the rumours and allow them to spread. If the people wish to believe the Outlander is gone, let them. The palace offered no endorsement either way.

But that’s not exactly why he’s upset. No, apparently there had also been enough gossip from the gala the night Lieca escaped to solidify a few things he definitely did not want known. Namely, that Arcann had chosen a woman wearing a backless green dress as his paramour for the evening, which apparently people saw as an invitation for tonight’s event.

He remembers looking out over the guests at the event and being vaguely surprised at the flashes of colour where there was once only black white and gold. A woman near the door wearing a patterned red scarf, a man at the edge of the dance floor with a bright blue shirt underneath his heavy coat, a woman drinking from her champagne glass wearing a dress of gleaming orange while she spoke to another woman in a soft purple skirt.

But it was the flash of green in his peripheral vision that made him feel ill, his eyes involuntarily seeking it out even though he knew, he _knew_ , that it wouldn’t be Calli again. And indeed, the tall woman in a long green dress with her glossy brown hair tied skilfully at her nape, glancing coquettishly at him over her shoulder, is certainly _not_ Calli and the spike of anger at the thought was enough to make him turn away in annoyance.

He didn’t stay long after that, his stomach rebelling even though he hadn’t touched any drink at the party due to still wearing his mask.

He still feels vaguely ill even now, back in the safety of his rooms, stumbling around and kicking his furniture to try to regain some control over his emotions.

It has been a few more hours, surely Intelligence has finally discovered where Lieca and Calli went on Zakuul. Why would they have come back here?

He quickly picks up his datapad and skims through the reports sent through after he left for the gala, and his heart thumps in his chest at the reveal of a report on the Outlander.

Apparently the Alliance had teamed up with the so-called Firebrand and had tried to attack his city, and his robotic hand clenches into a fist at the thought. See, he _knew_ he was being foolish to hope, even for the slightest moment, for anything else.

There’s so many notifications of them passing through the cameras scattered throughout the city that it cannot be anything other than deliberate, especially considering their previous secrecy. To his immense surprise, there is no reports of any deliberate damage to the city though - no explosions, no wanton acts of destruction.

Well, he knew enough about Lieca and her history to deduce that she would not be responsible for such things anyway - head of a enemy Alliance or not - but the addition of Firebrand and her younger sister makes it more surprising that nothing happened.

The Overwatch administrator is dead, and it appears that Firebrand left with the others, but overall there’s nothing else? Which is more than a little bit suspicious. He pulls up the list of videos to try to find some sort of explanation.

He finds one from earlier that day that seems longer than some of the others - as though they had stayed stationary for a time rather than passing through an area like the others - and so starts to watch.

He really wishes his breath would stop catching every time he sees Calli on his screens, it’s getting fairly embarrassing. But his expression quickly fades into a frown as the first thing she does when she appears in the camera frame is walk over to start kicking a holo-terminal with his own image on it.

“ _And everyone keeps treating me like some broken-hearted damsel and I hate it and I don’t care and I certainly don’t need him!_ ”

That stings, as much as he wishes it doesn’t. She’s clearly upset, and that hurts too, and he shouldn’t be worried about what she thinks anyway and yet…

It takes him a few minutes of watching the sisters interact before he understands the personal conversation they have segued into discussing and he feels his face heat immediately, even while interest coils in his belly. _Sex_ toys? He is absolutely _not_ picturing Calli in that private setting and, _no_ , this is _too much_.

Of course the conversation doesn’t end with the re-appearance of Firebrand though, and he flushes darker as he watches the rest of the conversation.

_“Were you guys seriously just talking about vibrators in here?”_

_Calli sounds like she’s choking a little bit. “We are fine, Kaliyo!”_

_Kaliyo cocks her head to the side. “Okay, seems a kinda weird conversation for a repressed Jedi and her uppity little sister to be having though.”_

_Lieca frowns. “I’d be careful who you call ‘uppity’, sunshine,” she says warningly._

_Kaliyo bares her teeth at her for a moment before turning back to Calli. “But seriously, if you need tips, I know a great place to buy whatever you need.”_

_Calli sighs. “Kaliyo, I absolutely do not need your advice on where to buy toys, okay. Stop taking such an interest in my sex life.”_

_Kaliyo snorts. “I’m not the only one who’s interested sweetheart,” she says smugly. “You are the "Lady in Green", aren’t you?”_

_Both Amell sisters pause, but it’s Calli who speaks. “What?”_

_Kaliyo’s grin widens. “You’re the girl who boned the Emperor the night the Outlander escaped. How’d that feel, sleeping with the enemy just to save an ungrateful sister?”_

_Lieca draws herself up to her full height, towering over the Rattataki. “Now listen here-” she starts hotly, before Calli cuts her off._

_“Who the fuck said I slept with him anyway?” Calli snaps. “He wasn’t exactly hiding the passcodes in his underwear or anything, I just needed a terminal connection.”_

_“What, did you check? You know, there’s actually sites with a to-scale representation of our illustrious Emperor if you needed a reminder. Or, you know, a refresher, if you wanted a second round. Comes in battery operated and-”_

_Lieca steps forward, her thunderous expression matching Calli’s. “Kaliyo! Just grab your detonators and get moving. You’re not half as clever as you think you are,_ babe _.”_

Hmm. It may be entirely possible to die of secondhand embarrassment after all.

And what did Kaliyo mean she knew of a ‘ _to-scale_ ’ representation of him?

… it may be best not to think on that.

He shakes his head to clear it, still furiously blushing, and quickly scrolls through to find the latest video in the list, from the Overwatch control centre.

The sisters’ disdain for Kaliyo is fairly obvious, and helps him calm down a little from his fluster at their previous conversation. Lieca is both somehow more like herself from what he remembers earlier - quieter and sadder - and also somehow even more different, her tones and use of endearments clashing with his view of the Jedi Master.

He dismisses the feeling as still being unsettled at the thoughts of Calli, and tries to focus more on their conversation.

So in the end, they saved his city and took Kaliyo away for... what? They clearly disliked the other woman, and had little to gain personally from forcing her to join them.

Did they… come here just to stop her damaging Zakuul any further?

He’s distracted from his confusing thoughts by the arrival of the report from the next world under attack for its illegal military installations.

The Alliance’s unusual actions mean nothing. He is Emperor, and has much greater concerns than whatever small things they are trying to accomplish. Whatever their task, the Empire of Zakuul is more powerful, and cannot be stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying quite hard not to "woobify" Arcann and Vaylin and some of their downright horrific actions in game, but it's quite hard to justify so many of them from their POVs anyway? Arcann, WHY are you bombing five worlds for no reason? People keep talking about you being some sort of tactical genius....and yet we never see that in game. SO I'M FIXING IT. 
> 
> Also, I'm aware it's kinda taking away Kaliyo's agency to stop her plan from working at all but I did this for the first time with Lieca as a very very Light Side Jedi and Calli as a slicer and you're telling me that they are just going to co-operate with an anarchist who wants to bomb a city for REASONS? Um no. Let's just fix that right up now.


	16. Frustrations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mild sexual content including internal discussions of masturbation.

The trip back to Odessen is awkward, to say the least; Kaliyo was scarcely coming quietly, after all, and it breaks Calli’s heart to have to say goodbye to Bowdaar yet again, even knowing his place is here for now. Calli and Kaliyo squabbled over who had the right to the pilot’s seat, the argument culminating in Cera rolling her eyes and promptly performing some kind of Jedi trick that had seen the anarchist instantly keel over backwards, fast asleep.

Calli had eyed Cera suspiciously. “Do you do that to the twins?” she’d asked.

Cera had snorted. “As if they’d fall for that,” she’d said airily. “And now the trip back will be nice and quiet and pleasant- you’re _welcome_.”

It makes her skin crawl having to fly past the Eternal Fleet once they break atmo, and she holds her breath as they pass without incident, just another civilian freighter amongst the tens of thousands of ships coming and going from the new centre of the galaxy every day. They’d always seemed so ominous, looming in the sky above Zakuul in the years she’d lived in The Spire, and now she’s seen firsthand just how terrifying they can be. She doesn’t fancy a repeat performance.

Cera touches her shoulder briefly as she comes back into the cockpit, as if sensing her anxiety. Neither sister says anything, and they make the jump to hyperspace in silence.

Calli breathes out slowly, not quite relaxing but certainly more at ease without the threat of imminent capture lurking over her shoulder. Her commlink has been beeping for hours now, and although she finds the idea of Zakuulan security being able to hack her safety protocols laughable, she put off reading her mail until a more appropriate time. A long, boring flight back to Odessen seems like an appropriate time, and it only takes a minute or two of scrolling through before she’s furiously sending off angry retorts to Geralt and the others in the heist team.

Since Lieca’s return, the Alliance is abruptly a lot less secret and a lot more interesting to a whole lot of people - and therefore a lot more _expensive_. People are getting impatient and antsy and downright fucking rude about money, and if she gets one more whining message telling her to hurry up and crack the code on the fucking Gilded Star files she’s going to kill someone-

Cera suddenly reaches over and squeezes her hand, startling her from her thoughts.

Her sister is grinning at her, the same blue eyes alight with mischief. “Cal, I can practically _hear_ you gnashing your teeth, hun. Go on, get out of here. Kaliyo will hopefully sleep for awhile longer, and I’ve locked the door too. You go get some rest, I’ll let you know if I need you.”

Calli frowns. “Cera, what about you?”

Her sister’s smile fades briefly. “Lieca’s a bit restless,” she admits quietly. “I won’t be able to sleep for a bit anyway, plus I did nap before. Despite what you and Kira both seem to think, I am capable of keeping an eye on an auto-piloted ship. Holiday won’t let me crash it into a sun!”

The console beeps with an incoming message, which displays as a furious scribble of surprisingly elegant looping cursive across the screen; both sisters chuckle. Holiday’s full system isn’t integrated with the computers on this ship, and she’s obviously too busy to send through a holographic response, but she can certainly make her point when she needs to.

Calli sighs, biting her lip and looking back to the ship controls reluctantly; Cera sigh dramatically in response before she starts pulling her out of her seat. “Calli! Get!” she says cheerfully.

Motherhood has not weakened her muscles in the slightest damnit, and Calli is all but helplessly flailing as her sister drags her out into the main room, shrieking with outrage and laughter as Cera effortlessly hoists her over her shoulder. “Cera!” she screeches, banging her fists comically against her sister’s back. “Stop! Ow! You fiend!”

She’s actually mildly impressed at how little resistance she’s able to offer towards her sister, carting her around like she weighed nothing.

Cera spins around so that she’s between Calli and the cockpit, pinching her arm before she steps back. “Good!” she says, not even breathless from having bodily removed her from the room, “Now that you’re up, I’ll go sit in the pilot’s chair. You, get!”

Calli gapes at her. Cera grins back and starts waving her hands frantically. “Shoo!”

Her sister swans dramatically over to the pilot’s seat and plunks down into it, hands behind her head and boots up on the console as if she hasn’t a care in the world - it’s definitely showing, a decade or so of being around Doc. Calli glares at her back for good measure, just so she can pretend she got the last word, and then spins on her heel to head back to the small cabin she’d claimed as her own, making sure to petulantly deadbolt Kaliyo’s door on the way.

She locks her own door as soon as she’s in the room, immediately pressing her back against the cool metal. Leaning her head back, eyes closed, she soaks up the quiet of the room, the deep abiding silence of a ship travelling through hyperspace.

... and despite the calm, there’s still something buzzing under her skin, something making her restless and fidgety. Ugh, she’s so out of sorts today and she has no idea why, and…

Okay, that’s a lie, she knows _exactly_ why but it is extremely inconvenient and just makes her angrier and no she is not at all _aroused at the thought of Arcann again because that would be fucking crazy and she is better than that so-help-her-stars-this-is-not-something-she-needs-at-all._

It was clearly just because her sister had been teasing her about sex toys, and then fucking _Kaliyo_ starting shit by suggesting a replica of that magnificent dick, and okay, well it _has_ been awhile and it’s not like she’s had anyone else since him who’s done enough to even make it worth the burned calories and ... and…

Force-fucking-damnit-piece-of-shit _UGH_.

Luckily, the Zakuulan merchant-class ship they had stolen some time ago to use for covert movements in and out of Zakuul is equipped with multiple cabins and refreshers, so she’s actually lucky enough to have a tiny little refresher attached to her room. The captain’s cabin is actually large enough to walk around in, and despite her protestations about being the pilot, the bigger room had been cheerfully claimed by her sister for this trip.

The day was spent running around The Spire to get their fake Lieca plenty of attention, and crawling all over the murky, less reputable parts of the Old World. Not an intensely taxing day, by any measure, but it suddenly feels impossibly long, like she's been awake for days instead of hours. She hisses under her breath in annoyance before quickly stripping off and stepping towards the refresher, petulantly leaving her clothes scattered around the room. It’s _her_ space, she can do what she wants!

Hooray for the hapless merchants they’d liberated the ship from being both rich and arrogant enough to have full water systems available in multiple locations on even a smaller ship like this one. No sonic shower for her tonight, no thank you.

Calli quickly changes her mind about her rage as she steps into the refresher. She actually doesn’t hate everything today. She has hot water, which is clearly the best thing ever, and she’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.

Well, maybe not right now. Might be a little embarrassing to fight someone while naked. Not that she’s ashamed of her body in the slightest, but it would be nice to at least have mild coverage while punching someone. Perhaps some sort of robe?

Aaaaaand back to point A, thinking about sex with Arcann, when he’d seduced her out of her robe in two seconds flat. Fantastic. Faaaaaaantastic.

Calli groans and rests her forehead on the refresher wall, banging it a few times as she tries to focus. “Stop thinking about him,” she mutters. “He… he threw me out! He doesn’t deserve this, no matter how fucking great the sex was.”

Wow, no wonder everyone just keeps raising their eyebrows at her, she’s not even convincing _herself_ with that one.

“Hrmph!” she declares angrily, spinning back around to face the water, and briskly going through her usual routine. And absolutely not thinking about how nice the water feels or how slippery her skin is with the soap and _no no no_.

She is _not_ , in the slightest, aroused at any thoughts of any traitor stupid fucking Emperors who are not any good at fucking and Force-fucking- _damnit_.

Still in ridiculous amounts of denial, she climbed out of the shower as abruptly as she’d climbed in, quickly towelling herself off. Seeing her flushed face and tousled hair in the refresher mirror just makes her more annoyed, and she is going to kill both her sister and Kaliyo for talking about vibrators and fucking Arcann in the same conversation. Especially full scale model vibrators that definitely wouldn’t even come close to matching the real thing, not that she would consider buying one, fuck, but also, it sort of would be the best revenge to - _fuck_. It’s been _hours_ , shouldn't her hormones have calmed down by now?

 

_Apparently not._

 

She finally sighs. She needs to concentrate, and _clearly_ she can’t just will this away so she supposes it makes sense to just go with it? It’s not like anybody is ever going to know, and she’s certainly never going to tell _him_ because hey, they’re never going to talk ever again. _Ever_. So hey, it’s perfectly fine to just use him for her fantasies, right?

Closing her eyes for a brief moment _really_ doesn’t help and she’s pretty certain she can almost feel the ghost of his lips across her neck, the gentle whisper of his fingers sliding past the opening of her robe. She sighs louder, mostly annoyed, but also more than a little turned on as the memories play out.

She hasn’t allowed herself to think of it - to think of _him_. The way he felt, the heat of his body, the surety and confidence with which he touched her. She’d needed to be mad at him, because she couldn’t cope with what had happened if she wasn’t furiously spitting mad, but _oh_ \- he was really good in bed. She’d enjoyed herself, enjoyed _him_ ; she wasn’t so foolish that she could pretend otherwise forever.

And her body seems to be in very enthusiastic agreement right now.

Shivering, she leaves the towel on the floor of the refresher, her skin heated in the cool air of the cabin. She clambers onto the bed, hearing the faint echoes of his amused laughter from when they'd joked together right before he’d slyly dropped her on the bed. There are no stars in her cabin - she doesn’t even have a window, and if she did, she wouldn’t be able to see anything out in hyperspace- and no cover over her eyes this time. Seems stupidly fitting, that this time she’s going into this with her eyes open.

It’s only a few moments to snuggle under the covers. She always feels better when she’s nice and warm at the same time after all. She can pretend it’s just like any other sexually frustrated day this way.

Except she can still clearly remember the fucking fantastic way Arcann’s tongue felt against her and it takes her fingers only a moment to realise _exactly_ how well she remembers it and she shudders at her own touch.

 _Fuck_ , there’s no freaking way she can just walk away now and _ugh_ she’s still so _mad_.

Trying to focus on just the sensation of touch and definitely not thinking about Arcann again is nice, but clearly not entirely doing it for her. It’s not until she closes her eyes again and remembers the press of him against her and his mouth on her neck that her hips buck against her hand and she picks up the pace.

She is definitely not thinking about the hoarse way he said her name when she comes a few minutes later, desperately biting her lip to keep from crying out.

There’s a brief flutter of another memory against her mind too, but she is _way_ too distracted to focus on it.

She is still thinking about Arcann as she drifts off to sleep, naked and satiated for the first time in weeks - but that’s a problem for future Calli to worry about.

 

* * *

 

Arcann has been spending the better part of the last hour trying not to think about Calli anymore, and failing miserably.

He read the rest of his mail, he tried to review reports on the by now rebuilt power station, he tried to read over the reports to appoint a replacement administrator for the Overwatch and just… his mind can’t _focus_.

Well, evidently it can focus, but it is focusing on entirely the wrong sort of thing and _no_ , he will not give in to - to _baseless_ desire just because Calli and her sister were discussing sex toys in the same conversation as they mentioned him.

He is absolutely not picturing the way her eyes would flutter closed with pleasure in an encounter with such a device. Certainly not thinking about watching her in such an encounter, enthralled and unable to touch while she drove them both mad with desire. Definitely one hundred percent not imagining the thrill of being able to use such a device to rouse her to fits of passion at his touch.

No. Not at all.

That would be some other Emperor. Some stupid, lesser being who was foolish enough to be distracted by one single frustrating woman who would probably never wish to be in his presence again anyway.

Even if he wanted her again, which of course he _doesn’t_. He was only dwelling on the novelty of it all, a far more intimate experience than he was used to from sex.

The excuse rings as hollow as it did in the days after her disappearance from the palace, and that was long before he attempted to murder her sister right in front of her. Not that he ever assumed she slept with him for any reason other than the need to save her sister - her actions ever since that night have made it abundantly clear that she considered the dalliance an adequate sacrifice to make to ensure Lieca’s safety. She clearly didn’t want anything further from him, so it was silly to even briefly consider such.

But he can’t stop thinking about the way she moaned at his touch, and writhed underneath him, and _curse all of the gods above_ he cannot focus!

It has surely been _hours_ since he reviewed his reports and watched the videos of Calli so frankly discussing something so personal. It has certainly been far longer since he dwelt on their one night together, much more concerned with their second meeting atop the Control Spar and the horror it still causes him in his weaker moments.

So _why_ does his body think now is the opportune time to revisit how bloody fantastic she felt in his arms?

He huffs angrily, not thinking at all about how her lips might feel against his neck, especially on the more sensitive side with the scars.

He decides to dwell on the ache that causes his heart - don’t be ridiculous, of _course_ she would recoil in horror at the scars, not wish to touch or kiss them - and completely ignores the twitch of his cock against the fabric of his pants. _Esne_ , he can still recall the feeling of her hand against the back of his head, her hand barely brushing the edges of his scars, and he still shudders at even the memory of that almost-nonexistent touch. How would it feel if it was more deliberate?

 _No_ , she wouldn’t want to touch him ever again - his own actions have seen to that, assuming she could ever look past the scars in the first place. And why would he crave such intimate vulnerability in the first place, damned fool. Nothing good can come of allowing another past his defences, of seeking out the bizarre rush he felt when she’d treated him like a person, like a lover, like Arcann the individual and not Arcann the soulless immortal Emperor.

But his body is _apparently_ completely ignoring that message.

He hisses angrily, slapping the arm of the couch as he stands up and stalks towards the refresher. A hot shower might help him properly focus.

He carefully pulls off his clothing, wincing as he accidentally pulls his shoulder muscle in the process. The joints have been aching as much as his scars lately.

He ignores the chink of Thexan and Calli’s rings inside the pocket of his robes. He just hasn't had a chance to get rid of them yet; he doesn’t want one of his servants to take them, either deliberately or by accident. Really, he needs to have another pocket sewn into the inner lining of his robes so that he can separate them. Not to protect them or out of any weird jealousy of their lives away from him - it's just the clinking is always picked up by the audio implants in his mask and the noise is frustrating. Distracting.

He hisses in pain as he moves his hands to his pants, his left arm not exactly co-operating. Clearly, something is wrong with it and his doctor is not doing enough - he may need to find a new surgeon, as much as he is loathe to consider that Thexan’s smug assertions in his last letter might be correct.

Not that it is Thexan. The Fake Thexan, that’s who it was.

And that thought is actually enough to distract him as he wanted, until he finishes stripping off and his half-hard cock quickly reminds him of what he’s ignoring.

He breathes in through his nose, a grumpy half-huff, half-groan sliding from his mouth, and he resolutely grits his teeth and steps under the water’s spray.

He is _Emperor_ \- ruler of all known space and civilization. He can quite easily ignore the urges of his body towards a mere woman who would barely even tolerate him now. He’s simply stressed and tired and his body is latching on to whatever it can.

Thinking about Calli’s soft moans in his ear and how fucking good she felt around him is _not helping_.

It must be because he has been… _without release_ for some time now - not for lack of opportunity, of course not, but rather an overall avoidance of potential conquests. The security breach cannot be so easily forgiven, and he has been reluctant to invite anyone else into the sanctity of his quarters, his ego still bruised from how quickly Calli was able to switch from allegedly desiring him to strike at his personal information.

And of course, it has nothing to do with how easily she slipped under his skin and pushed past his usual boundaries to demand a level of intimacy from him that he has not given anyone else since the injuries that marked his face. It has nothing to do with how he fear-doesn’t want someone else creating that level of intimacy and then leaving him without a second thought.

The ache in his chest is just from the sting of hot water against the plates over his chest and shoulder, not anything else.

The water overall does feel quite nice though, and he can feel himself relaxing a little from the heat and pressure. Kind of like how good it felt to press up against a clearly warm and willing Calli from behind which _fuck_.

He angrily pushes his robotic arm against the nearby wall - previous experience having taught him not to actually punch it - at the reminder of exactly what he is trying _not_ to think about. Damn all the gods in the sky, is this woman going to plague his thoughts for eternity?

He realises it’s a little bit dramatic, but it’s hard to think straight when most of his blood appears to be rushing south.

He sighs. _Clearly_ his body is determined not to let him just walk away, his cock still twitching with interest at even the briefest thought about his night with Calli.

And it's not as though anyone will ever know how easily she slips under his skin...

He groans in annoyance and lets his hand drift down his stomach, choking back a satisfied grunt at the flutter of pleasure as he finally touches himself. He tries to focus on just the sensation itself, slowly moving his fingers up and down, squeezing at just the right pressure, but then he remembers her saying how much she wanted him between passionate kisses, and his hips buck against his own hand.

The sensation isn't close to what he really wants but, well, since that option is currently unavailable to him, he’ll take what he can get.

Still feels fucking good, though.

This time he does lose the challenge, unable to resist the siren’s call of the memory of Calli moaning his name as he moves inside her, and he spills into his hand with a loud groan, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles on the wall in front of him.

It's a lot longer than he’d like to admit before he feels steady enough to move again.

He decides not to think about what that means.

 

* * *

 

The sisters’ ship arrives on Odessen without a fuss, and it doesn’t take long for their arrival to be noticed. They have barely stepped outside the ship when Cera is almost immediately set upon by two tornadoes of energy, her daughters all but climbing up her side to chatter about their week. Doc jogs in shortly behind them, looking extremely frazzled with a glittery rainbow painted on his cheek and a smudge of purple on his forehead.

Calli notes with amusement that his relief at seeing his wife is probably about half ‘ _oh thank the Force you’re alive I love you_ ’ and half ‘ _fucking hell save me from our daughters_ ’. But he quickly moves to Cera’s side to kiss her, before Nicola clambers up to sit on his shoulders and Rianna stays wrapped around Cera’s leg.

It’s a little humbling, seeing her sister surrounded by her family, but before she feels too lonely Rianna immediately lets go of her mother and _jumps_ over to Calli’s side. “Aunty!” she says, her adorable grin the miniaturised version of Cera and Lieca’s. “You’re back!”

She can’t help but match that grin, chuckling as Nicola climbs down her dad’s front and going from his squawk of pain, jabbing something vital with her knee on the way down. Calli kneels down as Nicola runs over to tackle hug her too. “Of course we’re back! Didya think some mean old nasty Rattataki was tough enough to stop us?”

Nicola beams with pride, before Rianna grins cheekily. “No way! You and Mama kicked her ass!” she says gleefully.

“Language!” calls Cera.

Calli instinctively winces as both of the twins do, and Nicola shoots her twin a dirty look. “Thanks, _Ria_ ,” she says sulkily.

Cera seems vaguely bemused despite her stern expression, but gestures to her family. “Come on then kids, let’s go see your other Aunty.”

The twins seem delighted at the thought, though there’s a quick fight when they both want to sit on Cera’s shoulders for the trip there. They eventually compromise with Nicola perched on Calli’s shoulders and Rianna clinging to her dad’s head, which doesn’t seem like much of a compromise for Cera so much as an outright victory.

They’re only about halfway down the corridor to Lieca’s room when Nicola suddenly tugs on Calli’s hair, pulling her to a stop. When she tries to look up at her niece she shushes her, clearly waiting gleefully for something.

It’s only another heartbeat before Cera is suddenly dive-bombed by a flash of screaming blue from the top of the nearby cabinet, but whatever reaction the kids hoped to get was immediately foiled when Cera gracefully caught the tiny twi’lek instead with barely a twitch of her expression.

Anya looks very disappointed, already trying to wriggle out of Cera’s arms. “You knew I was there!” she huffs accusingly.

Cera nods, eyes twinkling. “How could I miss such a powerful Force signature, lying in wait like a nexu about to pounce?” she says seriously.

Calli hides a giggle at how Anya puffs up at the implied praise, before they are all distracted by her father’s shout from down the hall.

She turns carefully so as not to unbalance Nicola, just in time to see Thexan skidding around the corner as he runs towards them, his expression thunderous. “Anya!”

Cera nods politely in greeting as he comes to a stop just in front of her, still holding his wriggling daughter. “Master Tirall, I seem to have located your wayward student,” she says in a deadpan voice to make her twins giggle.

He nods back, looking slightly confused, before frowning at Anya. “You know that you are not supposed to jump on people, darling. What if you get hurt?”

She pouts, folding her arms and kicking her legs petulantly. “But Miss Cera caught me! I was being so sneaky too.”

Cera nods solemnly. “Very sneaky indeed. I wonder who taught you to do this,” she says casually, suddenly menacing eyes pinned on her own daughters.

Rianna quickly tugs on Doc’s hair. “Quick Dad, run!”

Nicola seems outraged at the thought that her twin might beat them to freedom and leave her to take the fall, and it doesn’t take much for Calli to find herself wrangled into racing Doc to Lieca’s door, laughing as the twins cackle above them. Cera catches up a moment later, clearly having passed Anya over to her father, her expression still stern. “Girls!”

“Faster, Dad!”

“I’m going as fast as I can-OW!”

Realising that they’re both becoming implicit in the twins’ crimes, Calli and Doc both suddenly stop. Sensing imminent danger, both girls quickly scramble free and take off for the door. “Traitors!” Nicola calls in horror.

It’s obvious that Cera is deliberately staying slow enough to stop herself from actually catching the twins, and Calli dryly notes to herself she’s probably just trying to tire them out.

All five of them are laughing by the time they reach Lieca’s door, and the girls charge into the room. “Beat you!” they call in unison, both beaming, their faces flushed from the exertion.

Calli’s attention is immediately caught by Lieca and Theron lying on the couch, Theron lying half on top of her, and very clearly interrupted by the sudden appearance of her family. Theron’s startled and vaguely guilty expression is visible from even across the room, and he scrambles off the couch so fast he nearly falls off.

His face is visibly flushed even as he straightens up, quickly smoothing his shirt down, and his voice cracks as he addresses them. “Hi, kids, um, what are you doing here?”

Lieca’s face is also fairly flushed, but she looks much healthier as she sits up without even a wince. “I told you you forgot to lock the door,” she says softly, sounding both amused and embarrassed even as she stands up next to him.

Luckily, the girls are far too young to catch the obvious subtext and quickly bound over to them, both clutching Lieca’s legs. “Aunty! Mama’s back!”

Lieca stumbles a little, slightly off balance, but Theron quickly steadies her with his hands on her waist as he slips behind her. “Yes, I can see that my darlings,” she says quickly, lightly running her hands through their hair before shooting a surprisingly dirty look at her twin. “Apparently your mama likes hiding her Force signature.”

Cera is practically radiating amusement. “Not _that_ well - someone was just a little bit _distracted_.”

Lieca flushes darker and Theron coughs nervously from behind her. “Um, well, how did it go?”

Calli grins, relishing in their embarrassment, but fine, down to business. “One blueprint of Zakuul and one Kaliyo, unconscious in the cargo hold.”

Theron blinks. “What?”

Cera tuts. “Now now dear, she’s perfectly fine. She’s just sleeping in her room. Rather polite of her, I thought.”

Theron raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” he says dryly.

Calli looks at her sister anxiously. “What about you?”

Lieca smiles, kneeling down as Rianna tugs on her skirt. “I’m fine - the last week of rest has been good, I promise. Walking around and everything now,” she says sweetly before turning her attention to the chattering twins.

Cera’s expression turns sly. “Yes, I’m sure Theron has been keeping a very close eye on you. Very attentive.”

Both lovers flush, even as Lieca pretends to not be listening, and Doc’s expression quickly matches his wife’s. “Aw sweetheart, play nice. They’ve got so much to catch up on, you know.”

Calli rolls her eyes. “Ugh, I’m going to be sick,” she mutters. “Anyplace else I can escape to if you guys are going to sit here and have your gross and or serious chats?”

Cera looks at her blankly, but Theron sighs. “Vitalia and Jonas should be here soon - I asked them to come help me with a few favours. I think they’re escorting Risha and the kids? Either way, Geralt could probably use some distracting - his anxiousness is making him a lot more annoying. I think half the base is out of cash by now.”

Calli blanches. “Yeah, I think my method of distracting him is far different to yours, Theron,” she says dryly, and he glares at her instantly, in a manner that seems to imply he hasn’t broached the topic with Lieca yet. Oops.

Lieca tuts, and Theron swallows whatever insult he was thinking of to gently help her to stand up again. “Play nice, kids,” she says softly. “And it’s not widely known, but Erika should be here soon too, with the kids.”

Cera’s expression sharpens, clearly picking up something else from her tone. “Havoc’s on it’s way too?”

Lieca nods. “I wanted to see Erika, and Aric didn’t want her to come here alone - and he knew the General wouldn’t be too happy if he came out here to the Alliance in his leave time. He asked if we could find something for Havoc to do to overall help the war effort if they all unofficially came along - I was going to get them to help with one of the Star Fortresses, but from the data you found in the Overwatch files, I think they will be of better use helping us on Zakuul.”

Cera’s eyes narrow. “You want to send them after the network access points?”

Lieca’s eyes are briefly unfocused but she shakes her head quickly and smiles. “Yes. It’s all well and good with the data we have, but I want something more easily able to track current information. Arcann’s getting a bit unpredictable.”

Cera raises an eyebrow and Lieca shoots her a warning look.

Calli hums. “I feel like I’m missing something,” she says carefully, trying not to sound hurt.

Lieca suddenly winces, her eyes moving just past Calli, and she tries not to think about what that means.

Cera speaks up before anyone else does, her expression softer. “We’ll talk about it soon. Calli, can you please go find Geralt and harass him about the Gilded Star? He keeps pushing the reports onto you, but I know it’s supposed to be his job and until Risha’s back there’s just no dealing with him.”

Calli frowns. “Since when did I become his babysitter?”

The twins apparently decide to take that moment to remind the adults that they are still there. “We can help babysit Uncle Geralt!” Nicola says with a broad grin. “Let us, let us!”

Cera seems amused at the idea and opens her mouth just as Holiday’s hologram appears on the console nearby. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says quickly, grinning at the “ _Hi Miss Holiday_!” she receives from the young twins. “But I’ve just been informed that Geralt is being _terribly_ sneaky and hiding somewhere in the base, and that Anya and Flissa are already looking for him with Master Thexan and Master Ona’la’s help, but he’s being so very tricksy. They could use a few more talented trackers!”

The twins gasp and look to their parents. “Please please please!”

Cera laughs, turning to her husband. “Why don’t you go help them out, honey, I’ll join you soon.”

Doc sighs, but he’s clearly fighting a grin, and leans forward to kiss her. “Yeah yeah, I see how it is. You’ll miss me,” he says slyly, just before the twins take off running and he yelps and takes off after them.

The room is silent for a few long moments, Lieca rubbing her temple and Theron looking worried. Cera makes a shooing motion at them all and Lieca and Theron sit back on the couch, Calli curling up in the nearest armchair.

Lieca eventually speaks, fingers twisting around the silver ring on her right hand. “I do mean it, it is necessary for the Alliance to track the Eternal Empire’s movements,” she says quietly, looking at her lap. “It is important to have current information, rather than the older information we have. Not that all your work isn’t appreciated of course, Calli, but… oh you know what I mean.”

Theron still has his arm around Lieca, and gently squeezes her. “Calli knows we appreciate her work,” he says softly. “What’s really bothering you?”

Lieca sighs, shaking her head again for a moment. “Did Master Zho ever teach you much about Force bonds?” she says hesitantly.

Calli lifts her eyebrows at that, looking to Cera whose expression is unusually serious. Theron obviously knew about Force bonds - they all did. That’s the only reason they had known Lieca was even alive. She and Cera were close enough that they were connected through the Force or something. What more did they need to know?

Theron seems similarly confused to Calli. “Uh, not in great detail I guess?” he says cautiously. “They’re usually formed from a close relationship between Force users, especially between masters and padawans? And obviously siblings but hey, not as much research on people like you two. Uh, I mean, not that I don’t believe you, um, hey, was there anything else?”

Lieca is still looking at her lap. “True. It’s most common in those cases yes. You know I have a bond with Cera and Nadia, and Cera is also bonded with Kira. But sometimes Force bonds aren’t caused by the buildup of long relationships - sometimes it’s much faster, due to traumatic events.”

Cera nods. “Like Revan and Bastila - I don’t know if it’s widely known, but they definitely had a Force bond, and it was caused when Revan nearly died if not for Bastila’s intervention. And they barely knew each other before that. Same with records from the Exile about their Master, Kreia. Though that Force bond was suspected even by them to be deliberately tampered with - again, it was through the near death of one person that the other bonded to them.”

Theron frowns. “Okay, but what does that have to do with…” he says before trailing off and turning to Lieca in horror. “Wait, you’re not saying…?”

Calli frowns too. Judging from the context of the conversation it seems to be recently relevant and the only Force user any of them have been around with near-death injuries is… “Oh, fucking seven hells of Corellia, you’re not kriffing serious?” she groans in horror, Theron visibly stiffening next to Lieca.

Lieca flinches away from their reactions, almost appearing to try to move away from Theron except for his arm still around her. “It’s not like I planned this,” she says miserably.

Calli stares at her. “Are you saying you’re Force-bonded with fucking _Arcann_?” she says incredulously. Because this entire situation _isn’t weird enough_.

Lieca winces again. “I _think_ so - I keep having feelings and flashes of memory that aren’t mine. It was worse in the days after I… woke up, and it’s nowhere near as frequent now, but I’m… pretty sure it’s him. Valkorion, he… he feels different to this.”

Theron’s frown deepens, visibly trying to contain his reaction. “Are you sure you’re not just…?”

Lieca makes a frustrated noise, hands at her temples again. “It’s hard enough keeping it in my head!” she snaps, her horror creeping through even past her frustration. “I’m trying, I’m trying so hard and it _hurts_ and I _don’t want this_.”

She cuts herself off with a sob. “I don’t know, I _don’t know anymore_ and I can’t keep it straight and I - and Cera agrees with me and Lana agrees with me and I just-”

“You’ve spoken to Lana about it?” Theron interrupts, sounding hurt. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? Why not talk to me?”

Lieca makes another frustrated noise, and Cera speaks again. “She wanted to make sure, describing it to someone who wasn’t me and who has significant knowledge of the Force,” she says softly, before continuing pointedly. “And, you know, she was worried about your reaction.”

Theron opens his mouth but quickly closes it, looking chastised. Calli decides to ask the obvious question across the awkward silence. “So… what does this actually mean?”

Lieca takes a deep breath, not really moving herself even as Theron shifts closer to her. “It means my memories and reactions can’t really be trusted right now,” she says softly. “I don’t have many flashes of Arcann - it seems to be only if both of us are particularly emotional at the time? Thus why I think it was stronger after Asylum. But I want more eyes and ears on him, for the Alliance, and to reassure myself that it’s all under control. It’s… it’s not something I really want known? But I’m sick of hiding things from the people I care about. So, now you know.”

Theron still looks guilty, and Cera is still watching him reproachfully. Lieca then speaks again, still looking at the ground. “I’m sorry I did not say something earlier, I did not want you all to worry.”

Theron sighs, gently kissing her forehead, but still obviously tense. “You mean worry more, right?” he says wryly, squeezing her in apology. “I’m sorry.”

She gives him a small smile in reply and he relaxes almost instantly.

Lieca looks back up to Cera, obviously doing that weird telepathy thing they’ve got going on, and Cera nods. “I’ll let you know when the others get here, hopefully soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some daughters and nieces to recover from an over-zealous man-child. We’ll let you two talk.”

Calli is about to protest being shooed away _again_ , except that that would mean staying behind with Lieca and Theron getting all _feelings_ at each other and the mere thought almost gives her hives. Plus Cera is giving her the “pointed angry mum” stare and that’s a little disconcerting.

She sighs. “Fine. But don’t blame me if Vitalia sneaks away and tries to kick the door down.”

Lieca doesn’t say anything, wide blue eyes on something else, and Theron eventually nods. “We won’t,” he says uncertainly.

She decides not to think about what it means that Lieca seems to be looking past them again.


	17. Mission Control

Calli’s first indicator that Vitalia and her crew have landed on Odessen is the warning scream of “ _CALLI_!” half a second before being all but crash-tackled off her bar stool by a flash of blue and green. She winces at the near death grip on her neck before wriggling free and finding her footing, spinning around to see her friend standing there grinning at her.

She glares at her. “Tali! Could’ve fucking warned me a bit better, my neck’s gonna be sore for days!”

The Mirialan woman laughs. “Yeah, yeah, love you too babe. Fuck, whatever happened to ‘ _respect your elders_ ’? Honestly, it’s like there’s no civilised society anymore!”

She scoffs. “Oh, so you’re actually admitting you’re older? That near-decade actually means something now?”

Vitalia gasps dramatically. “How dare you! I am a perfectly _young_ woman, thank you very much.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Bobbi.”

Vitalia frowns. “You can never spend too much time with Bobbi, that’s a completely implausible statement. And you know, since my best girlfriend was stuck lounging around on Zakuul for years, I had to find something else to do,” she says, before grinning wildly. “Speaking of finding something to do on Zakuul - or should I say, _someone_ … “

That expression can only mean one thing. She knows about Arcann. “Oh, for fuck’s sake-”

“ _Why didn’t you tell me you-mmph_!”

Calli covers her mouth before she continues, glaring furiously. “Don’t you dare!” she hisses, moving her hand once Vitalia switches to pouting. “And how the fuck do you even know?!”

Vitalia rolls her eyes. “Honey, I am an information broker. It is literally my job to know all the things,” she says haughtily before sighing. “And yes, I of course shut it down as soon as I found out and, no, your uncle doesn’t know.” She starts counting off on her fingers. “Yes, I bribed anyone and everyone to stop it spreading, yes, Bobbi _probably_ knows, yes, I may have also asked Holiday for deets since I was worried about you, and no, Jonas doesn’t know either.”

“What don’t I know?”

Both women whirl around to see Jonas Balkar walking up behind them, arms folded but obviously amused. “Hey Calli. Long time no see.”

When he grins, she steps forward to hug him, relieved he hadn’t overheard them. They’re not as close as she is with the Abelli siblings, but she likes him well enough and is used to seeing him around a lot because of Vitalia - doesn’t necessarily mean she wants him to have a close insight into her sex life. “Agent Baklava,” she says with dramatic solemnity.

He groans dramatically as they separate. “Oh no, not this again.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he rolls his eyes. “On second thought, if it’s you two, I definitely don’t want to know. Back together for five seconds and already causing trouble, I’m not even surprised. Where’s your sister’s worse half?”

“I _heard_ that.”

The three of them turn their heads to see Theron standing in the door to the cantina, arms folded and looking extremely unamused even in spite of his obvious tiredness.

Jonas grins. “Shan! Good to see you!” he says, moving over to clap his shoulder. Theron still looks a little offended, but returns the gesture after a moment. “You still look pretty uppity for a guy who just got his girlfriend back after five years.”

Theron glares at him. “And what if she had decided otherwise, eh?”

Jonas sighs. “Then you would be moping impressively in the cantina, drowning your sorrows and looking for a distraction. Just like last time.”

Vitalia turns back to Calli, eyes twinkling in the same way she remembers even with the added lines at the corners. “He is pretty _distracting_ when he wants to be,” she says in a theatrical whisper, and Calli giggles.

Theron sighs. “I’m just… no. I’m not even going to try,” he mutters, seemingly half to himself before folding his arms again. “You two going to skip the pretence and jump straight into work, or do we need to play at this for awhile longer?”

Vitalia pouts at him, throwing her arm around Calli’s shoulders. “I’m not the one who pissed off the boss by running off with no warning,” she chants in a sing-song voice.

Theron growls and Calli sighs. “Be nice, Tali - he’s already put his foot in his mouth with my sister once today,” she mutters into her old mentor’s ear. Luckily Vitalia is only about an inch or two taller than her, otherwise that would be harder.

Vitalia raises her eyebrow at her. “As opposed to any other day?” she says dryly, blowing a kiss at Theron’s frustrated face. “Darling, if you were being eloquent all the time, I’d be worried it wasn’t you.”

Theron seems to be ignoring her, fingers moving to his implant. Eventually he moves his hand through his hair, sighing as his shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough few months,” he says, exhaustion creeping through his voice, and Calli feels a little bit bad for teasing him. “I am glad to see you guys, it’s just… it’s been hard. Everything’s been a little crazy.”

Jonas is immediately sympathetic. “The family passed on some news,” he says quietly. “We don’t know much, but… yeah. I’m sorry.”

Theron shakes his head. “Yeah, you _say_ you’re sorry, but you’re still carrying a message from her uncle. Tell me, how many times does he want to kick my ass this time?”

Jonas shifts his hand to his back pocket to find his datapad, Vitalia cheerily calling out from next to the bar. “Only three this time, you’ve done well!” she says, before squeezing Calli. “Director Acoma did say to pass on that he’ll add one asskicking for each scratch on his nieces or grand-nieces though.”

Theron sighs again, and Vitalia taps her lips with her finger. “So, how many do you think we should add, hmm?” she asks Calli, her smile faltering as she sees the look on Calli’s face.

Calli’s uncle is a thorny issue even at the best of times. The girls’ mother had died before Calli was even in school, and their long-absent father had died on Alderaan around the time of the Treaty of Coruscant. With the twins already well ensconced at the Jedi Academy, it had left Calli by her lonesome, and already well aware of how desperately awkward she made things for everyone. In the end, their mother’s brother and his wife had taken her in, but as their own teenage daughter had just left home to join the Republic army, having a very young child underfoot hadn’t exactly been part of their life plan.

She’d known, even as a small child, that just because she was loved didn’t mean she was wanted.

Her uncle and aunt had been an older couple even when they’d had Erika, and it was a huge change for all of them to suddenly switch back to the modes of parenting needed to care for a small girl. Especially with their uncle’s career with the SIS firmly underway - his work life was just a bit too hectic to take proper care of a young child, although he really did try his best. Her aunt wasn’t much better, thoroughly ensconced in her political career, a job that required long hours that were certainly not conducive to raising a child.

She loves her aunt and uncle, and she knows they love her, but it was _hard_ for everyone involved. She remembers spending most of her teenage years in various SIS offices - Vitalia had been essentially her babysitter at the start, barely an adult herself, and ending up teaching Calli to pilot and code out of desperation, and then in earnest once they both realised how much Calli loved it. She could out-hack half of the SIS before she turned sixteen, when she decided she’d had enough charity, and took her savings and share of her mother’s inheritance and bought herself a ship. It was old and tiny (smaller than Arcann’s refresher _shut up brain_ ) but it was _hers_. She lived there while she enrolled in an advanced university, but the content bored her to tears and so she stuck to odd jobs for the SIS after dropping out a year later.

And then Vitalia came to her with a job offer with her stupid baby brother and the rest was history. “ _Who else could hack Geralt out of trouble_ ”, had been her reasoning at the time. “ _Come on Calli, he’s decent pay, he’ll look out for you, and I will help you kill him if he tries anything_ ” she had pleaded.

Of course, turns out she had far more to worry about from over-chivalrous Corso trying to be constantly protective over her - at least Geralt was always happy to drape himself over Corso and bat his eyelashes whenever he got too annoying. “ _Darling if you wanted some company, all you had to do was say so_!” he’d declare, grinning widely as Corso all but tripped over himself on the way out.

But all in all, relations with her uncle were… they were just _different_. Foster father, uncle, unsure almost-employer, spy in charge of protecting the Jedi sisters - he was all of those things and more, and he never seemed to settle into any role comfortably. He also never quite seemed to get the message that his over-protectiveness wasn’t exactly welcome or expected these days... as much as it kinda warms her heart at the same time to know the old man still cares.

She’s not at all ashamed to admit she’s desperately relieved to know he doesn’t know about Arcann, because she’s not sure what’s worse - thinking about the look of disappointment in his eyes, or thinking about the possibility that he might pull out some long dormant fatherly instincts and try to challenge the fucking Emperor himself over the perceived slight to his niece’s honour.

It’s not like her fears are unprecedented, given the song and dance Lieca went through over Theron. The whole situation is admittedly rife with the potential for hilariousness when she considers her uncle is technically the employer of one of her best friends and the ex-employer of her sister's boyfriend, and the employer of one of her best friend's’ fiance, and - was that it?

She was pretty sure that must have been a hilarious conversation between Lieca and Theron when he finally worked out the family connection. Well, hilarious for _her_ at least. Neither of them probably found it too funny. Although, considering how long they knew each other before they started dating, it had probably already come up. Damn. Way to ruin her amusement.

Lieca working with Theron’s estranged mother and Theron working with their uncle will always be an awkwardly hilarious situation though. She only ever brought it up once...or twice...

Something in her expression must have changed as Vitalia relaxes, grinning broadly again. “Alright then! So, before your cousin comes to steal you away for babysitting - those kids are cute but don’t be fooled, they are a complete handful - tell me _everything_.”

Calli sputters, and Vitalia’s grin only widens. “Come on darling, I need to know!” she says dramatically, ignoring the boys now bickering behind her. She then huffs, blowing her fringe out of her face. “Look, you can start with the easier things if you want. Tell me what you and Bowie have been up to?”

Tali then puts her arm around her shoulders. “You’ve got til drink five before I start asking my _own_ questions though,” she whispers, eyes twinkling. “Enquiring minds need to know!”

Calli buries her face in her hands.

 

* * *

 

 

Lieca pulls another face at the adorable toddler in her lap, giggling at the soft sounds the little Cathar boy makes. Her cousin Erika sits beside her, smiling indulgently at her adopted son, but mostly watching her eldest playing some sort of board game with Flissa. The girls are quite similar in age - Erika retired from active duty when she fell pregnant not long after Flissa was born - and Lieca can tell Flissa is relieved to have an older playmate without as much energy as her other various cousins and friends.

It’s only been a day, but Risha and Geralt’s eldest, Calinda, and Anya have already had at least three standoffs and Cera’s twins are currently banished to their rooms for inciting one of the arguments. Neither girl is used to sharing the role of ‘ _bossiest child_ ’ and they seem to still be deciding if they are best friends or worst enemies.

Calinda is a haughty mix of both of her parents and her namesake, and watching Calli interact with her ‘ _niece_ ’ had been entertaining in its own way. The little girl had been a little obnoxious about meeting everyone else, despite her mother’s scolding, but her reunion with Calli had her immediately attaching herself to her, clearly deciding Calli was the best thing ever. Calli’s pleased fluster at the attention was adorable; she was so good with all of the children, it made Lieca’s heart soar to see her so happy.

And then of course Anya and Linda almost started fighting over who got to sit next to who at lunchtime and Geralt stepped in - slyly tricking the girls into teaming up to take him down, exaggerated shrieks for help as they closed in.

She wonders if Risha has freed him yet, or if he’s still tied to the table in his ship.

Luckily, there’s more than enough space for all of the children in the dormitories, and the adults still here on Odessen seem to be settling in nicely.

Havoc Squad is already on it’s way to Zakuul to meet up with the refugee camps the Gravestone team had been working with for the last several months, in order to launch an attack on the least defended access points to the Eternal Fleet command data. Lieca can’t honestly say she’s sorry to be missing out on the action, because as wonderful as it had been to wake from the carbonite prison, a murky swamp buried so far under behemoth trees and atmosphere piercing cities that they never saw the sunlight was not her first choice for an outing.

Erika had once been the golden child of SpecOps, rapidly rising through the ranks to be the commander of the most decorated squad in the Republic. Her early retirement had come as a surprise to some, but not to those who knew her - Erika had always done precisely what she’d wanted whenever she’d wanted, and after her marriage to her second-in-command, she’d wanted a family. So that had happened. Several children later, she is still quite merrily enjoying the perks of being a stay-home mother while Aric takes charge of Havoc in her stead, a well earned promotion for him.

Five years on from when she last saw her cousin, and it’s obvious that Erika couldn’t be happier with the choices she’s made. Her eyes still shine with pride when she talks about her husband, matched only by the ways she gushes about their children. Aric had understandably been a little reluctant to leave his family behind on Odessen, a place that was to all intents and purposes a military installation, but Lieca was used to his gruff manner and didn’t take offence at his short responses to her questions in the brief time they’d had to talk.

Lieca is drawn out of her daydreams by tiny little claws scratching her nose, and wide curious eyes watching her when she focuses again. Before she can move, Erika leans over and closes her hand over her son’s. “Uh-uh, no claws sweetie, we talked about this. Not everyone has fur like you and Daddy.”

Markku wrinkles his nose and lets out a somewhat petulant yowl, and Erika clicks her tongue at him. “Behave,” she warns, sharing an amused look with her cousin as her son immediately pulls a cute face and snuggles into Lieca’s shoulder.

Lieca melts, and Erika chuckles. “He’s clearly picking up my charms,” she says dryly.

Lieca shifts her fingers to gently stroke the toddler’s head, the fur soft and fuzzy to the touch; Force preserve her, but she feels a pang in her chest, thinking of all the quiet, cuddly moments like this she missed with Flissa. “Not Aric’s?” she teases. “You can’t tell me he’s not a snuggler.”

Erika winks, finger moving over her lips. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” she says haughtily, and they both laugh.

There’s suddenly a shriek of laughter from the girls, and both women look over to see Flissa’s gizka piece trapped by the mini cage. Maire’s piece seems to have tried to jump to safety, only to be crushed under one of the poles that had previously been holding up the cage. Both of them are laughing too hard to notice.

Erika nods sagely. “Gizka Trap claims another,” she says solemnly.

Lieca smiles.

She’s so glad her cousin came to visit. It helps distract her while Theron and Calli are away - Theron with Jonas as air support for the team on Zakuul, and Calli with her people heading to the Gilded Star.

Not that she’s lonely - she still has so many people here who love her and want her to be safe - but distractions keep her from worrying too much. And help her focus on something other than the whispers in her mind that don’t belong to her.

She almost wishes it was just Arcann again.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s only been a few years since Calli travelled with Geralt and company constantly, and yet she’d almost forgotten just how good the man is at keeping any eclectic bunch of people together despite how infuriating he can be.

Their team was about to rob the Gilded Star, a heist which they have been preparing for for months now. Calli had first found out about it from the data stolen from Arcann’s personal computers - a highly secure ship, isolated from all galactic networks, hidden in a constant stream of electrical storms capable of scrambling all manner of technology, that only surfaces from the depths of the gas giant Vandin once a year for re-supplies. The Gilded Star had been a vague rumour circulating the galaxy’s underworld for years now, rumours of Zakuulan wealth unfathomable, and Holiday and Calli’s accidental discovery and confirmation of its existence and its purpose had been exactly what they had been searching for.

The Gilded Star pulls double duty as a treasury safeguarding many priceless artifacts - of both Zakuul itself and the many worlds it has conquered - and housing the physical computer terminals hosting the banking systems used to manage the wealth provided in tribute to Zakuul, the theory being that a computer network inside an electrical storm is completely undetectable and unhackable from outside.

But from inside? That’s another story. And if they are exceptionally lucky, they’ll also find the networks safeguarding the coffers of the royal family.

Surely Arcann owes them all a few spa days.

Holiday’s analysis of the data also turned up a surprising discovery - the fact that Senya had a long history as the commander of said ship had been extremely well timed, and the former Knight of Zakuul had hesitantly agreed to help them locate the crew manifests and associated records. Senya’s role in the hierarchy of Zakuul has been uncertain for years - her disappearance when her children were barely into their teens was well known in Zakuul, even if no-one knew the reason _why_.

Calli is uncomfortable enough around her, given that she clearly knows she slept with her son ( _thanks, Thexan_ ), and so she certainly doesn’t want to further overstep any boundaries by asking what happened there.

The fact remains that her frequent disappearances from Zakuulan records in the years since her estrangement from her children are an ongoing mystery, even despite the fact that Senya would have them call her an ally. Calli doesn’t mistrust her, of course, it’s just... complicated. Her confusing encounters with Arcann aside, it is concerning that Senya is reluctant to offer up information to them, and that the Alliance had to discover her previous position on the Gilded Star through stolen data is frustrating. She double checked the dates to verify them, and she did note that at least one of her stints as commander of the treasury included the bleak time frame when Thexan and Valkorion both died, and Arcann invaded the Core Worlds as the new Emperor.

She considered asking Thexan about it, if he and his mother had spoken about her absence during such a painful time, but... _ugh_.

Of course, it was far too risky for Senya to come with them - as a known collaborator with the Alliance, even her adoration amongst the Knights is not likely to save her if her children have made their feelings known on the subject and publicly declared her rogue. Just because there wasn’t any ridiculous booming declarations about her ‘ _betrayal_ ’ doesn’t mean that Zakuul isn’t quietly aware of her.

So Senya had stayed on Odessen - but it was her information they needed more than her presence. She had reluctantly helped them plan the heist, including the location of the dive bar the crew prefers to frequent during shore leave while on their annual refuelling.

A skeleton crew left on the Gilded Star while the process took place, and the rest of the crew in a bar Geralt had quickly outfitted with high quality, high strength alcohol. Easy pickings!

Hopefully.

They needed to get onto the ship as cleanly as possible, no loose ends. This was one of those occasions were the Zakuulan propensity for almost ludicrous egotism worked in their favour - not only that they were stupid enough to store all of their treasures in one location, but also that they believed their set up to be so untouchable that they scarcely considered security. Shit, she’d seen better security systems in place on a Corellian warehouse they’d done over back during the war. They were clearly assuming that the disruptions caused by the storms, not to mention the extreme isolation of Vandin, were good enough deterrents should anyone actually uncover the location of the treasury.

And of course, they had a secret weapon that Zakuul couldn’t hope to match - Holiday. Once they could install Holiday’s portable interface into the system, she could start sabotaging the ship to help them further, overriding the security controls to respond to her instead of the commanders and helping Calli to stabilise an offworld connection for the data through the storm interference. Geralt had been moaning longingly about how useful Holiday would be in regular heists for years now, and he hadn’t missed the opportunity to gush in great detail about how much he was looking forward to working with her - until she zapped him, at least.

The easiest way onto the ship was to impersonate the crew - it involved the least amount of bloodshed, the least amount of violence, and hopefully gave them an advantage over the remaining crew, should they come to a confrontation. Each of Calli’s team had a crew member of similar height and weight assigned to them, and a few other targets as well in case the first wasn’t present in the bar. If they could get everyone? Fantastic. If they only got a few? It would be enough to get them through. They only needed a few employee keycards after all.

Calli, to her distaste, was playing the seduction card again - but this time purely to separate and knockout. She was stealthing, so stealing a uniform wasn’t as high priority for her. Risha was blackmail, Vette was pickpocket, Jaesa was ‘ _super space magic mind trick wizardy thing_ ’ (as described by Geralt), and Geralt was the distraction - doubling as the charming pickpocket if required, and also playing the part of card shark extraordinaire.

Risha had interrupted his grand spiel to say that if he called himself that one more time, she was telling his buyers _exactly_ where his ‘ _exotic Naboo spices_ ’ were coming from, and his response was a large amount of sulking.

All in all, the switch in the bar goes almost painfully smoothly, and they get exactly what they came for. With the Zakuulans out cold in a back room, securely trussed up and drugged with one of Dr Oggurobb’s special blends, they put the finishing touches on their uniforms, leaving Vette and Calli to follow behind them under stealth generators. In a few hours, they’ll hopefully be leaving the Gilded Star, with the wealth of a thousand worlds under their belt - and if they’re lucky, a number of the stolen artifacts of the worlds Zakuul has ransacked too.

Shouldn’t take long to disable a skeleton crew… right?

 

* * *

 

 

Lieca looks up from her reports about the progress of the Alliance’s current missions - Calli’s team is going well on the Gilded Star, having dropped out of contact once they boarded as planned, and Aric’s team has successfully installed a tap on the Zakuulan guard communications without being detected- to see Flissa standing there before her, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

Her daughter grins brightly at her. “Hi Mama!” she says cheerfully. “Miss Senya wants to talk to us in the Force Enclave.”

Recognising Senya’s thinly-veiled attempt to get her out of her rooms, she smiles. “Alright, we can’t say no to Miss Senya, can we?” she says gently, putting her datapad aside.

She tries to ignore how she stumbles when she goes to stand up, feeling the flash of Flissa’s concern like lightning. But she quickly rights herself, shooting a quick smile at her daughter as well as a general soothing feeling through the Force, and when Flissa calms down she follows her out of the room hand in hand.

Flissa immediately starts up a steady stream of chatter about her morning, gushing about a game she had been playing with Ona’la and Thexan. Thexan had eventually been called away for a very important tea party with his own daughters, with him as the guest of honour according to Flissa, and so she and Ona’la had gone looking for Senya to see if she needed help with anything.

Lieca smiles as Flissa puffs up with pride, describing how she was helping Senya move things around her room with the Force. She drops her voice to a dramatic whisper to tell her mother that Senya also gave her a piggyback ride to reach the top of her cupboard without the Force, but she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.

Unsteady though she might be, that was still enough for Lieca to quickly kneel down outside the door to one of the private rooms of the Force Enclave to hug her daughter, smile softening as Flissa immediately snuggles against her shoulder, her hair all over her face. But she really doesn’t mind. It’s moments like these that she longed for more than anything while she was frozen, the quiet joy she can take in holding her beautiful daughter in her arms.

The moment is interrupted by Senya opening the door, smiling gently at them. “My apologies for the interruption,” the older woman says regretfully.

Flissa beams at her. “I found Mama, Miss Senya!” she says proudly, arms still tight around Lieca’s neck.

Senya nods sagely. “I see. Did you spoil the surprise dear?”

She shakes her head. “Nuh-uh! I was good!”

Lieca blinks, looking at her daughter. “Flissa?”

Flissa’s eyes are shining with glee. “Not telling! You have to go see, Mama!”

Lieca raises an eyebrow at Senya who gives no reaction. “Alright… what am I looking for?”

Flissa grins. “Go see!”

Still puzzled, she releases her daughter to stand up again, smiling gratefully at Senya’s steadying hand.

The meeting room already has an occupant, someone easily a full head taller than her - if not more -, with their hood up over their face. She racks her memory trying to think of who it could be, ignoring the mocking whisper from Valkorion at her scattered thoughts, and comes up empty. “Hello?”

The man quickly turns around and she gasps in recognition. “Gaden-Ko!”

The Voss smiles, his hands moving to remove the plain hood from his head. “Jedi. You remember me. I hoped you would.”

She moves forward, unable to stop the smile on her face. “You look well. Being a Mystic clearly suits you.”

His smile turns shy, ducking his head a little. “I am a Mystic because of you. Your guidance, your protection. It is your accomplishment too.”

Senya stops just behind her, a steadying hand on her back when she turns to face her. “Your friend was telling me stories about you. It seems you are a hero to many,” she says, eyes shining at Lieca’s fluster.

Flissa meanwhile has stepped up next to the Voss, who looks down at her curiously. “Hello Mr Gaden-Ko,” she says primly, lighting up when he politely, if confusedly, nods at her in greeting. “Why is Sana-Rae red while you are blue? Do Voss have lots of colours? What’s your favourite colour?”

The Voss stares at her for a moment before looking at Lieca. “I do not understand,” he says tightly.

Lieca smiles, gesturing warningly at her daughter. “Gaden-Ko, this is my daughter, Flissa. Flissa, this is Gaden-Ko - the Mystic I helped on Voss. Has Aunty Cera told you that story?”

Flissa frowns at her. “I think I remember,” she says, clearly concentrating hard before she brightens. “You looked after him because he was sick and needed help and Jedi help people. And he was nice.”

Gaden-Ko kneels down in front of Flissa, clearly still somewhat perplexed, but also a little charmed as she keeps talking. “His family was gone so you became his family,” she says, before turning back to him. “Does this mean you are _Uncle_ Gaden-Ko?” she asks with a gasp.

His browline furrows. “I… do not know,” he says carefully. “But Voss are not many colours. I am sorry.”

She deflates a little, pouting. “Oh. But that’s okay, you can’t help it.”

Lieca sighs. “Flissa, it is not polite to ask that,” she says warningly. “You know that.”

Flissa winces. “Yes Mama,” she says sullenly, before looking back to Gaden-Ko. “I’m sorry if I was rude.”

The Voss seems pleased. “No apology necessary. Children are curious, like to learn. Asking questions helps,” he says, turning his dark eyes to Lieca. “Your daughter is very strong.”

Lieca smiles, Flissa immediately puffing up again. “She is wonderful, yes,” she says affectionately, winking at Flissa when she pulls a face. “But what brings you here to see me Gaden-Ko? I am of course pleased to see you again, but I thought your work would keep you on Voss.”

Gaden-Ko dips his head in acknowledgement, standing up again as Flissa darts back to Lieca’s side. “The role of a Mystic is important. But friends are important too. I had a vision.”

She can’t help the way she tenses, running her fingers through Flissa’s hair to try to calm herself down. “Oh?”

Gaden-Ko seems to sense her unease, voice softening. “I came to help. You need friends, now, more than ever. The dark sun will not rise on its own.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

Gaden-Ko seems distressed now too. “But you still do not understand.”

 _The Voss_ never _understand_. She shakes her head to clear it. “I am not used to your visions,” she admits quietly. “I am not a Mystic, I cannot interpret them.”

Gaden-Ko frowns. “It is not your job to interpret. You listen. You learn. It is your way,” he says, before pausing. “I am… sorry that I could not help. Before you were captured. The visions were… different. Unclear. The Mystics were both correct and… not.”

Flissa tugs on her robe. “Mama doesn’t blame you,” she says earnestly. “You’re Mama’s friend. She loves her friends.”

He nods his head towards her again. “I thank you,” he says solemnly. “But you must be careful, Lieca Amell.”

She flinches, suddenly tired again and grateful for Senya’s steadying hand on her back. “You only use my name when something is very important.”

“Your titles are your deeds, your accomplishments. To ignore what you have done is wrong. You are both more and less than your name. Especially now.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment. Gaden-Ko’s expression softens. “It will be time soon. The visions do not lie.”

She can’t quite repress the shudder his words inspire, taking a half-step back. The flicker of fear in her mind is chased by an angry cackle and she suddenly feels exhausted.

Gaden-Ko steps forward as Senya catches her arm. “Are you alright dear?”

She runs her hand over Flissa’s head at her matching worried expression. “Just a little tired,” she says softly.

But Gaden-Ko’s eyes do not leave hers. He knows.

_I won’t let him hurt anyone else._

 

* * *

 

Calli steps out of stealth with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the charming grin Geralt shoots her over the unconscious man between them. “I take credit darling,” he says, returning his shotgun to his hip and moving to zip-tie the man’s hands and legs together.

She huffs, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “How did you even know I was there?” she hisses, crouching down again to start trying to pry the side off the console again.

He sighs behind her, apparently kicking the man with his foot. “I could sense your beautiful presence a mile away,” he chants in a sing-song voice, sitting down and propping his feet up on the data console. “Holiday, what am I looking at?”

Holiday’s image appears in the holocom hovering between them, looking remarkably frazzled. “I’ve never seen so much security in one place before,” she says distractedly. “This is exciting!”

Geralt sighs, gesturing at the display screens. “Are you looping the feeds?”

Calli crows in triumph as she finally opens up the console, quickly sucking her fingers into her mouth when she singes them on the wiring she just accessed.

Geralt makes a noise at her distress, and she waves him off. “All good, just keep an eye on our friend over there!”

Calli twists at a ridiculously uncomfortable angle to move her hand enough to slip Holiday’s dataspike exactly where it needs to go, and the system literally shudders as she connects.

Holiday’s eyes almost blaze in the holocom, and she claps her hands with delight. “Oooh, this is amazing!” she says cheerfully, the screens in the rooms flickering as they are overwritten to Holiday’s control. “Much easier now with room to breathe, you’re a darling Calli!”

Calli huffs, uncurling herself to move towards the keypad for the main console. “You’re just stealing my thunder,” she says grumpily, hands flying over the keys as soon as it’s unlocked.

Geralt sighs and moves off the console, heading towards the door to keep watch, his fingers at the stealth generator on his own hip. “How’s everyone else?” he asks distractedly.

“ _Honey, if you ask that one more time, I will come down there just so I can strangle you_ ,” Risha responds through clearly gritted teeth.

Vette chirps up before he can respond. “ _Exploring the vault now! You guys having fun or what?_ ”

Jaesa speaks up, sounding as distracted as Geralt, also clearly keeping watch. “ _The air seems uneasy. I think someone is starting to determine what is happening - but I cannot trace them_.”

An alarm blares on the main console, making Geralt jump, and Holiday jumps over to the group comm channel. “Not to worry!” she says cheerfully. “There’s been a sudden influx of energy at the power room. Nothing for us to concern ourselves about. And oh dear, that was the door malfunctioning. Oh gosh, I’m just so clumsy!”

Geralt’s holocom beeps and he looks down to view it, his eyebrows lifting at whatever he sees. “Oh, well, that is a _lot_ of zeros,” he says in mild awe. “I just… how do they even _need_ this much money?”

Calli sighs. “You’re _welcome_ ,” she hisses between her teeth, working as fast as she can with Holiday to run through the datastreams to unlock all of the accounts.

Holiday seems a little tired now, if that’s even possible, but still sounds perky as she speaks again a few minutes later. “Alright, and the vaults are able to be deployed whenever you’re ready. How kind of Zakuul to leave them detachable like this! It’s so convenient.”

Calli growls at her console. “And I’ve diverted all alerts from the ground crew, so we should have about an hour. Geralt, you can call in your fleet whenever you like - I’ve tagged each of the vaults so everyone knows which one they should be grabbing,” she says, flipping the switch to divert to another channel. “That means I know _exactly_ who’s picking up what, Walter!”

A long stream of curses is her only response before Geralt cuts in in amusement. “That’s my girl,” he says fondly to her before speaking into the comm. “Well, what are you waiting for you idiots? Get moving!”

Holiday curses suddenly too, the sound unfamiliar enough to make both Calli and Geralt pause to stare at her. “Oh, I _wish_ this was easier!” she says in despair.

Realising they are both watching her she starts waving her hands frantically. “I have obtained access to the main accounts used to receive tribute from the Republic and the Empire, but I just cannot access this last one! Oh, I know we don’t need it, but it’s just… this should be working!”

Calli blinks at her and turns her attention to the same datastream. “Hmm? What’s stopping you?”

Holiday scowls. “This final password! Everything else to get to his point has had so many layers of security protocol that it was child’s play - but somehow this final one is stopping me! I’ve tried alphanumeric rolling algorithms and transaction authentication and cryptographic verification and seventeen kinds of encryption methodology and - oh, it’s maddening! I’m so upset.”

Calli cocks her head to the side. “Which account is it?” she says, half to herself as she scrolls over the user information.

Geralt seems to be yelling at his crew, so he’s not paying attention to the girls. Holiday’s expression turns a little sly. “I was trying to get into Arcann’s accounts,” she says sulkily. “I wanted to buy some nice presents for you!”

Calli snorts. “Holiday, you don’t need to do that,” she says softly. “We’ve got enough.”

“But he hurt you. I want to help.”

Calli sighs. “What data have you got?”

“Final step is one password, six data points, with only one try before the account self-destructs. It’s clearly a relatively simplistic password - it’s for personal entry only, not the security codes I’ve piggy-backed off of. I thought it might be _Zakuul_ or _Arcann_ but my preliminary analysis indicates no double entries and they don’t fit the system specifications. I’ve never seen anything like this, it’s not on any systems that Tharan has showed me and oh I know he would be so interested to see it but it’s just so _frustrating_ and -”

“Thexan.”

Holiday pauses mid-rant. “What?”

Calli grits her teeth. “The password will be Thexan,” she says shortly.

Holiday goes quiet for a moment. “Calli… if you’re wrong, I don’t know if I can stop the alert going to the Spire,” she says softly.

Calli makes a frustrated noise. “You can see from the access data - the account hasn’t been touched in years. Seems weird for a family account, doesn’t it? Especially with the sum that code is clearly trying to hide. Unless… unless the only way in is something a person has either forgotten about or doesn’t want to think about. This account permission was set over twenty years ago, no changes since, see? And there was a linked account, until five years ago - depleted just before… just before Lieca was taken. And then nothing since. It’s Thexan.”

She and the AI stare solemnly at each other for a few long moments before Geralt suddenly shouts behind them. “And we are ready for lift-off! Come on babes, let’s get this show on the road!”

 

* * *

 

 

Arcann hisses in pain as his robotic shoulder locks, the mechanism refusing to co-operate as he tries to block the training droid’s strike.

The sting of the tiny bolt it shoots at him is barely felt amidst the flare of his rage, suddenly seized by a maddened impulse to slice the damned mechanical arm in two. Luckily the impulse is gone as soon as he thinks of it, and he grits his teeth and gestures for the droid to stand down, slowly trying to rotate the shoulder out of the lock.

Blasted thing is both so much more sensitive and resistant to his commands at the same time, ever since it was damaged by Calli’s shot on Asylum. Because it’s not _enough_ that the joints ache through his shoulder and it sometimes feels like it’s weighing down his neck and his back, _oh no_ , that would be too _easy_. Better to feel the strain in all of his muscles as well as the damn thing not working properly too.

He huffs and moves to one side of the room, grabbing a towel to wipe over his face. There is no-one else here to observe this private training - the solitude helps on the rare occasion things do not proceed according to his plans. Like today, for example. No one to witness the humiliation of his weakness.

He twists to look at his robotic arm, hissing as the joint tries to lock again. Even looking at his arms and comparing the two makes him feel ill. He looks down at his bare chest, frowning at the supporting plates along his left side, the ugly ridges of scar tissue along the poorly healed implant, and wishes that-

No. What’s done is done. He can’t change it.

He moves the towel over his neck and chest too, rubbing angrily at the spot on his neck that twinges when he turns it to his right.

The pretender’s letter still rings in his head, as though laughing at him.

He had hesitantly reviewed the attachments to his previous letter, ostensibly sent by the Jedi Master and concerned with his own physical health. He had been vaguely amused that even the setup of the documents matched what he knew of her personality - the documents neat and precise, patiently provided explanations of the correct exercises to strengthen the muscles in his shoulder and neck.

It was a little overwhelming though. So many stretches and movements required to heal a relatively simple injury? His arm was _gone_ \- doing a few exercises wasn’t going to make it magically grow back, so what was the point?

He had remained prudent though - perhaps she thought to try to trick him into weakening his shoulder further. It certainly felt like it when he awkwardly tried the first example on the list, out of curiosity more than anything.

He had taken the letters and recommendations to his medical staff, trying to look for all the world as if he was a completely knowledgeable source of information on the topic of injury management, and he was simply deigning to ask their opinions out of charity. Being told that all of the information within the neatly written notes was not only correct but also vastly superior to his own current rehabilitative program, and tentatively informed that it would actually help his pain management, had not improved his disposition.

“ _Why was this not prescribed to me by_ you?!” “ _Your most Imperial Majesty, we, uh,_ tried _to pass on this information in the past but, gracious lord, you, er, threw us out and, um, told us never to mention it again.”_

He grunts in annoyance at the memory, shame and anger sour in his belly, throwing his towel towards the bench nearby. It doesn’t help his mood that father’s presence seems particularly strong today, and his stomach curls at the thought as though it can summon him.

Father is not _here_. Alright _fine_ , he clearly still exists in some form, but he’s in the Jedi’s head, not his!

His skin crawls with revulsion and he desperately tries to shake off whatever is causing the feeling. He hears the door slide open and whirls around with a snarl to yell at whoever it is intruding on his privacy, pausing with confusion to see his sister standing there.

Vaylin raises her eyebrow at him, folding her arms as the door closes behind her. “You look terrible,” she says bluntly.

He growls at her and turns back to his training, resolutely ignoring his hurting shoulder and the spike of paranoia that comes from her seeing his scars. Vaylin sounds curious when she speaks again. “Why don’t you wear the mask all the time anymore?”

He breathes through his nose. “I am not required to explain myself to you,” he says stiffly, rather than think about the answer. He keeps himself turned away from her so that his scars are as far from her as possible.

When she doesn’t respond it’s unusual enough to make him glance back at her, and he almost winces at the look of _hurt_ on her face. It makes her look so much younger, like the little sister he lost so many years ago to their father’s machinations.

The moment drags and he almost shuffles on his feet before she quite visibly shakes herself, her expression morphing into one of haughty cruelty like she normally wears these days, all false cheer and mocking kindness in her voice. “Cheer up brother, you’re making me sad.”

He glares at her, but recognises her way of asking what’s going on and grits his teeth. “Father,” he starts uncertainly, surprised to notice Vaylin actually flinching.

“I don’t want to talk about _him_ ,” she hisses, expression wild.

His eyes narrow. “You feel it too?”

Her eyes are still wide. “No!” she shouts, before visibly trying to calm down. “Why do we have to talk about him all the time? He’ll never leave!”

When he just stares at her she huffs. “He’s just mad you stole his chair,” she says grumpily.

Arcann scowls at her. “What? Father doesn't feel anything about us.”

She shakes her head. “He cared about Thexan - and then he died,” she says in a sing-song voice.

Arcann growls. “Why are you here, Vaylin?”

She pauses, tilting her head as her eyes move down his side, clearly eyeing the mechanics built as supports for his arm; he tries not to flinch, not to turn his body away and hunch over to shield himself from her scrutiny. Finally she shrugs. “You never train this late,” she says.

It almost sounds like... _concern_? “I am fine,” he bites out.

She doesn't move, but those unblinking golden eyes unsettle him and he looks away.

When she speaks again, she sounds uncertain. “The Fleet has returned from the raids - all targets destroyed. Lots of civilians too,” she says, pausing. “Are you happy?”

“That the Fleet followed my orders? Of course.”

A long silence follows, and Vaylin looks away. “I’m glad,” she says, sounding small.

After another long silence Arcann finally sighs, rubbing his neck again. “Did… did you want to train too?”

She lifts her chin. “I do not need to train,” she says loftily. But she still moves towards the rack to choose a training saber.

“Of course.”

She sniffs disdainfully at him. “Please put a shirt on, you look ridiculous.”

He rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Lieca wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night, lifting her head off her desk to rub her eyes, wincing at the crick in her neck as she does so.

It’s not the first time she’s fallen asleep at her desk, but she’s usually woken by Theron. He gently shakes her shoulder, golden eyes tight with concern in a way that still hurts to look at, like she wants to apologise for worrying him so in the first place. She’s vaguely confused about why she’s awake if it’s not him waking her, then remembers that he’s away co-ordinating with the strike team on the…

She frowns.

The Star Fortress?

No, wait, Theron is with Jonas’s team, preparing for the assault on the... the... Zakuulan communications centre. She thinks. Maybe.

Her memories are far too fuzzy lately. She’s trying not to worry the others, but it’s hard when she’s so obviously all over the place.

Maybe Flissa? Although it’s clearly way too late for her daughter to be awake, it’s not the first time in the last few weeks that Flissa has crept into her room at night, warding off her nightmares with the physical presence of her mother. She enjoys hugging her daughter close as she drifts off to sleep, her wide brown eyes shining even in the dark of the room, and she wonders if Flissa knows her presence comforts her as much as the other way around.

But there’s no small hand tugging on her skirt, or little voice asking for comfort as she burrows into her side, so she knows it’s not Flissa either.

The Force is trying to tell her something, but she knows it’s not Flissa’s presence or Theron’s absence - which is still something she instinctively tries to rectify even now. Her senses press against him even knowing he can’t feel it, but sometimes he reacts as though he can. The shields she prepares are an obvious sensation to those she protects, but sometimes…

Hmm, she’s sidetracking herself again.

She runs one hand over her face, distractedly pushing her hair back and trying to focus. The notes on her desk swim in and out of focus, not making any sense when she tries to read them.

Why is she awake?

She blinks in confusion at the Force rushing next to her, and Lana’s soothing presence reveals itself long before she turns around.

Lana? Why is Lana in her room?

The Sith looks worried, her features blurred in the darkened room. “Lieca? Are you alright?” she asks softly, voice sweet even as it vaguely echoes.

Lieca frowns. “Yes, I’m fine,” she says shortly. “I wish everyone would stop asking.”

Lana’s expression doesn’t change. “You should be sleeping,” she chides.

“Well, I was sleeping until you woke me up.”

“You shouldn’t sleep at your desk.”

Lieca sighs. “You’re not the first to say so,” she says, feeling grumpy now. Did Theron message her today?

“Are you worried about him?”

She blinks again. Had she said his name aloud? “Theron? A little bit.”

Lana chuckles. “No, not Theron. He’s not the one in your head.”

She frowns, pushing at the usual feeling of Valkorion in her head and feeling vaguely like she’s leant on a hard surface that gave way underneath her, off-balance and unsteady. “What?”

Lana’s features seem even more out of focus, and she must be far more tired than she thought. “If you’re not sleeping, perhaps you should try talking to him,” the Sith reasons.

Lieca’s frown deepens. “What? I-”

“You keep worrying and stressing and blocking him out. Maybe it would feel better to talk for a bit, to see what he keeps trying to tell you. It would drain you a little less. It can’t hurt. Just listen.”

The Force is clearly reacting to her confusion, starting to swirl around her in what she’d almost think of as a warning if her mind was clearer. “I don’t… I don’t want that.”

Lana sighs. “Maybe he knows something? You want to help Arcann, don’t you?”

The Force shield that flickers over her skin momentarily startles her. “Hmm? I - yes, I do, but I... what does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe he knows something that can help Arcann?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t… I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of him,” she pleads.

Lana seems momentarily confused. “Hmm? Well, maybe talk to him somewhere else? We don’t want the family at risk after all. I’m sure it will be fine. It would only be a little while. Just listen.”

There are alarm bells clamouring at her, and they’re right - the family will be at risk if she stays here. “I _do_ want to protect them,” she says quietly.

“Maybe sooner rather than later, then - you know how they worry.”

She chuckles dryly. “Mm-hmm, they are fairly obvious about it,” she says affectionately.

“Probably easiest while they are all sleeping too, they can’t put themselves in danger over it. They won’t fight you, and exhaust you further.”

She sighs. “A walk would be nice,” she says wearily. “Can you tell them?”

Lana smiles. “I’m sure you’ll be back before they even wake up, it will all be just fine. You can relax and enjoy the peace and quiet and just listen for a time. Just listen.”

Lieca smiles back at her, grateful for all the sense she’s making, and looks away to grab her holocom and a few other things.

When she looks back, Lana is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi belongs to the excellent Miri1984, and Agent Baklava belongs to mjaydesw on tumblr :D


	18. Visions in the Dark

Theron finds himself pacing in front of the centre console, unable to sit still while he works. Their team had only returned from Zakuul a few hours ago, and although he was disappointed Lieca was not there to greet him ( _settle down, Shan_ ), it _had_ admittedly been quite early at the time. She was probably sleeping - and Force knows she hasn’t been doing enough of that lately.

She’s very good at pretending she’s alright when she’s clearly not; it’s so incredibly frustrating, feeling like she’s keeping him at arm’s length, and only makes him worry more. But with Calli heading to the Gilded Star, Aric’s team had needed a competent slicer, and he was the only one free on Odessen. And although she had been making huge improvements in the weeks since they’d freed her, they all knew she wasn’t quite strong enough to go into the field again yet. So he had to go alone - well, alone plus the entirety of Havoc Squad. Alone without Lieca.

At least he’d had lots of practice writing letters to her. Though it’s far better to actually be receiving responses this time. He smiles to himself at remembering her most recent letter… and feels his cheeks heat up at remembering the letter before that.

Movement out of the corner of his eye rouses him from his daydreams, and he hastily shifts his posture so as not to expose how obvious his train of thought was. Lana and her wife Jezhara slowly shuffle into the room, Jezhara yawning and rubbing at her eyes and Lana running her fingers through her hair in place of a hairbrush. Lana pauses to see him standing there. “Theron? Please tell me you haven’t been working since you got back.”

He shrugs. “Someone has to. Morning Lana, Jezhara.”

The Sith Pureblood shrugs in response, half-heartedly waving in his direction. It’s about as friendly as she likes to be with non-Imperials.

Lana is rubbing her neck absently, and Theron notices a few marks there that weren’t there yesterday. “Ah, you’ve got…” He trails off awkwardly, realising what had happened.

She raises an eyebrow at him, cheeks faintly pink but her gaze proudly defiant, and Jezhara chuckles. “Now now Shan, you really don’t think before you speak, do you?” she calls out in her haughty Imperial accent.

He glares at her, the effect spoiled a little by the smile fighting to cross his face at the sight before him. As terrifying as the stories of the Lord Wrath are, it’s rather hard to take them seriously when Jezhara is standing in the control room with her hair askew, pretending to be vaguely intimidating, all while wrapped in a fluffy black robe with the neckline tucked up as far under her spiked chin as possible, pouting at her empty mug.

When Theron doesn’t answer, she rolls her eyes, looking to her wife. “Fine. I’m going to go find some food. Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

Lana shakes her head. “Just something small will be alright, dear,” she says, fingers apparently healing her bruises by the faint glow at her neck. Jezhara nods, turning on her heel to stalk out of the room in search of food.

As her wife’s footsteps retreat down the hallway, Lana raises an eyebrow at him. “Fine, if you’re just going to work anyway… how did it go?”

Theron shrugs. “Same as our other reports. Everything went smoothly, no losses or injuries, and the refugees are far more onboard with our cause now. How about your end?”

Lana brushes her hair out of her eyes, starting to tick things off on her fingers. “Calli’s team is on their way back from the Gilded Star, Jahlia and Andronikos are about a day or so away with their fleets, Saria’s sent through a few reports from Dromund Kaas, Vitalia has been working with Cera on a plan to start dismantling the Star Fortresses, Blizz has been kicked out of Oggurobb’s lab again, Kaliyo is still trying to get to get permission to attack the GEMINI frequency, Drellik has three new reports on Zakuulan artifacts for review, and Skyrii is demanding a return call before she’ll speak to Viszla and Pierce on our behalf.”

Theron winces. “Ah. She is still angry about the dejarik game, then.”

Lana sighs. “Theron, you just _had_ to pick a fight with the Mandalorians, didn’t you? Just pay what you owe and stop being ridiculous about it!”

He frowns. “It’s the principle of the thing!”

She rolls her eyes, stalking over to him. “Give me that datapad and stop moping,” she says crossly, reaching out to grab it when he doesn’t move. “Honestly, you’re such a child sometimes.”

Theron glares at her, but hands the datapad over. “Still not calling Skyrii,” he says sulkily.

Lana just rolls her eyes again, both concentrating on reading before Jezhara returns with food - surprisingly, with enough for the three of them to share. When Theron is about to protest that he’s not hungry, the Sith turns her unnerving red eyes on him. “Eat the food, Shan,” she says flatly, with the tone of voice that very clearly indicates no one ever refuses her.

He glares at her and picks up the most ridiculously sugary of the cereals on the tray. Being mothered by the former Emperor’s Wrath is always a weird experience but hey, free food that he didn’t have to fetch himself.

His fingers keep itching to ring Lieca’s holo while he’s eating, but he knows that she’ll come to the war room when she’s ready - and as before, if she’s sleeping, he really doesn’t want to wake her. So he swallows the feeling and focuses on work, sifting through Calli’s reports while Lana scoffs at Geralt’s. Amazing how two accounts of the exact same events can sound so ridiculously different.

Thexan passes through the room eventually, nodding at them all in greeting and collecting his own stack of datapads, his brow furrowed even before he looks at them. Theron look at him in concern over his caf mug, but the former prince waves him off before he speaks. “It’s nothing,” he says shortly, rubbing his temple. “Just stress. I did not sleep well last night.”

Theron nods, ignoring the curl of jealousy in his gut at Lana and Jezhara sitting on the nearby couch and half-draped over each other as they work. “Where’s Ona’la?”

Thexan drops his hand, still looking irritated. “Checking on the children. She is concerned, because I could feel... something was unsettling me, and she could not sense it. I told her it might not necessarily be anything, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

Theron frowns. “You’re not getting sick again?”

The Zakuulan flushes with annoyance. “No, I am not getting sick again,” he mutters petulantly. “I think my immune system is _finally_ deciding to co-operate with the rest of the galaxy.”

Lana makes a note of amusement from the couch, causing both men to look at her. “I think it is more your children, Master Tirall.”

Jezhara nods sagely, affecting a rather pompous air for a woman with her wife using her as a headrest. “Children are always more prone to illnesses - overworked parents even more so.”

Thexan glares at them both, the moment interrupted by the door to the room flying open with Calinda and Maire bursting through it, closely pursued by Anya making exaggerated chomping noises and pulling hilariously cute faces as she swings her arms wide.

The three girls run a lap around the room screeching at the top of their lungs, before Maire hides behind Theron’s legs; Calinda lunges to take shelter behind the couch, and the ravenous monster causing the disturbance is scooped up by her father. She struggles valiantly, still trying to get at her targets. “Raaaaargh!” she calls, the other two girls laughing hysterically.

Thexan sighs with weary resignation. “Anya, sweetheart, that’s far too loud. And you know you are not supposed to be in here.”

The little girl pouts. “But Daddy, I’m a hungry Pterathki! SCREEEEEEECH!”

The adults in the room all wince at the high pitched sound, and Anya stills in her movements to stare up at Thexan, clearly looking for some kind of response from him. When he only raises an eyebrow at her, she mirrors his earlier sigh, the sound far too dramatic for her tiny size. “Daddy, you’re supposed to fall _down_ ,” she whispers patiently, and Theron notices that indeed, the other two girls have dramatically flopped to the ground, apparently felled by the ‘ _sonic noise_ ’.

Thexan makes eye contact with Theron as though daring him to laugh, before he suddenly coughs. “Oh! Oh no. The noise. It has injured me,” he calls out dramatically, starting to lose his balance but keeping one arm tight around Anya. “I can’t… I can’t stay standing!”

He sways on his feet before dropping to one knee, Anya shrieking with laughter as the movement brings her parallel to the ground. “Oh, if only I had had more time to escape! Alas, my time has come!”

He then flails backwards, Anya tucked tight against his side as he sprawls on the ground, moaning in false pain. “Nooooo…” he says, before trailing off and closing his eyes.

Anya gasps and wriggles free to move to look directly into his face. “Daddy?” she asks quickly.

Thexan’s eyes then fly open and in the blink of an eye he’s standing again, Anya thrown over his shoulder. “Raaaargh! I am the Daddy monster, you cannot defeat me!”

Anya beats her fists on his back, desperately trying to wiggle free and escape. “Nooooooo! Don’t eat me, Daddy!”

The other two girls are also back up and laughing, and Thexan gestures to them. “Come on then, if I can’t eat you we’ll go find some real food,” he says, grinning shyly at the others as they join his side. “Let’s leave the grownups to their work, hmm?”

Calinda nods and with a look of apology around the room, Thexan quickly ushers the kids out. Just before the door closes, he turns to Maire. “Did you see where Ona’la was?”

The little girl’s reply is lost in the silence of the room after the door is closed, and Jezhara chuckles. “That child is a real handful,” she observes.

Lana nods. “At least they don’t make much fuss about being shooed out,” she replies dryly. “Though I am surprised that it wasn’t Cera’s twins today, they seem to be Anya’s usual playmates.”

Jezhara snorts. “Judging from the way they reacted to a newcomer, I would almost suggest a ‘ _girl gang_ ’ rather than just playmates,” she remarks in amusement. “I told Thexan the girls would sort it out before long.”

“Well, Anya _was_ trying to eat her. I don’t quite think that’s sorting it out.”

Jezahra frowns. “Semantics, my darling. Don’t correct me when I am right.”

“Oh, does that ever happen?”

Theron tries to ignore their banter, focusing on work, and trying not to miss Lieca too much. Of course, he spent five years without her, so the last little while since he left should have been fine - in theory. In practice however, he was just more worried. The memory of the five years still casts a shadow between them, one that they are both trying to fix and talk through but it’s just… it’s _hard_.

He puts his head down, and tells himself to stop obsessing so much.

It seems to work, because before Theron is even really aware of it, a few more hours have passed, with more reports coming in from the Alliance’s current operations. It’s beginning to feel like an actual proper organisation now, with detailed discussions going back and forth between Lana and Aygo about the results of the Zakuulan mission that he’s been copied in to, as well as letters from T7 and Bowdaar back on Zakuul about the current state of the propaganda being pumped out and the morale in The Spire. There’s more notes from Calli - including labouriously admiring letters from Geralt, gushing about her leadership skills in the field and her quick thinking with the computers. There’s even some updates from Quinn, who is already like a puffer pig in mud over how much work is involved in processing the billions of credits they lifted from the vault ship.

He would be lying if he said he understood how anyone can get excited about accounting.

It’s only when he notes how late in the morning it is that he actually allows himself to be worried. Lieca is normally awake by now, even on her bad days, and it’s not like her to not even send a message good morning, even if she has to go somewhere else straight away.

He then notices Lana and Jezhara are having a whispered conversation nearby and normally he wouldn’t really want to hear what they were saying… _ever_ , but the way Jez glances at him has him annoyed. “What?” he asks crossly.

Jez simply watches him, Sithy eyes all glowing and intense, and he scowls and looks away. “I get it,” he mutters grumpily. “Weird Sith business. Don’t let me stop you.”

The two women exchange a look, and Theron huffs. Whatever Lana is about to say is drowned out by the door opening again, and Doc enters the room, pointedly clearing his throat. “Uh, guys? We’ve got a problem. Like, a really big Serious Problem.”

The last thing he wants is to have to deal with Doc’s dramatic performances right now; he spins in his chair to face him, letting his annoyance show. “What?” he snaps, before pausing at the look on his face.

The older man is clearly all but beside himself, face pale under his moustache and wringing his hands together. “Cera’s asleep but she… she won’t wake up,” he says quietly.

Lana is already glaring at him. “What?”

Doc starts running his hands through his hair. “She won’t wake up. I’ve tried, the girls have tried, and they’re almost panicking and they say they can’t ‘ _reach her_ ’ and I don’t need the mystic mumbo-jumbo of the Force to know that this is a Very Bad Thing and-”

Lana growls angrily, about to cut him off when Theron suddenly speaks instead. “Where is Lieca?” he asks urgently.

“Uh, no, I was asking about Cera - you know, the one that I am married to, not yours? Unless, you know, I’m always up for a little spouse swap-”

“ _Kimble_!”

“Okay, okay, sheesh, just a little joke.”

Theron shoots Doc a withering glare. “I am _not_ in the mood for your jokes,” he snaps, already well beyond annoyed and starting to move into panicked. “If… if something has happened to Cera, _where is Lieca_?”

Lana and Jezhara stay silent on the couch and Theron turns on them instantly. “You already knew about this,” he accuses, aware his voice is getting a little higher but past caring.

Jezhara doesn’t move, but Lana almost flinches at the accusation; Theron feels a giant headache coming on. “What the fuck is going on?” he snarls. “Where is Lieca? If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be hiding this, and I just…”

When the two women still don’t answer, Doc looks around helplessly. “I have no idea? I’m not her bodyguard. I was on The Kid Pile duty last night.”

Before any of them can respond, Lana’s holo buzzes and she lifts her eyebrows to see Ona’la’s form there. “Nala? What is it?”

The twi’lek looks rather haggard for being a tiny glowing hologram of herself. “Flissa is so upset, I can’t calm her down,” she says quickly, sounding a little desperate. “Does anyone have any idea what’s going on? Where is Theron?”

Theron snarls at the force users. “ _What is going on_?”

Lana winces. “Ona’la, I shall have to call you back,” she says quickly, pocketing the holo before Ona’la can continue. She then breathes out, slowly, as if trying to stay calm. “We only found out a short time ago ourselves,” Lana says quietly, and carefully. Like she’s terrified of the response she’ll get. “Lieca seems to be... absent, and while normally I would try to respect her privacy and assume her to simply be out wandering around restlessly, with Flissa so unsettled and Cera clearly deliberately out of commission I think it's something… more.”

He can almost feel the blood draining from his face. “What?” No, _no_ , she _can’t be gone again_.

 _Not again_.

Lana hisses in frustration. “I’ve been trying to call her holo, but she’s not answering. It's not like her to ignore me, even when she's upset and trying to hide from everyone. I think… I think something’s wrong.”

“Oh, you think? That’s what you think, is it Lana?”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Jezhara said loudly, rising suddenly to her feet, “shout at her.”

“And why shouldn’t I? When were you all going to tell me that something was wrong? When we found her dead body?”

Jezhara was across the room without him actually seeing her move - one moment she was standing protectively over Lana, the next, looming in front of him. “ _Sit_.”

“I will not be-”

“ _Down_.”

Something in the way she says it makes it feel almost like a compulsion, and he sits down so fast his chair clatters. She looms over him for a moment longer, before nodding as if satisfied and moving back to the couch with her wife. Lana glances between the two of them almost guiltily, shooting him what he hopes is supposed to be an apologetic look. “It would explain the disquiet I’ve been hearing in the Force all morning,” she finishes quietly. “And, well... her absence in itself without leaving word is fairly out of the ordinary.”

Theron’s head is already throbbing, and he reaches up to rub at the ache around his implant just as the door opens and C2-N2 walks in, carrying another tray of food. Kriff, is it really lunchtime?

“Master Theron! Master Archiban!” the overly-cheerful voice calls and both Theron and Doc turn in bemusement to look at the golden droid trundling over to them, apparently completely incapable of reading the mood in the room.

“Seetoo,” Theron greets wearily, trying to bite down his anger. He knows Lieca is fond of the droid and its idiosyncrasies, but he personally finds it a bit too tiring to be around for too long. And judging from Doc’s frown, Cera has deliberately programmed it to annoy him too.

“Did I overhear correctly that you are looking for my Master Lieca?” the droid asks.

Theron nods, but Lana speaks first, getting off the couch and moving towards them. “Yes, we are,” she says urgently. “Seetoo, do you _actually_ know where she is?”

The droid nods, gesturing back out into the hallway. “Master Lieca left the base approximately nine hours forty-seven minutes and seventeen seconds ago. She took one of the speeders with her, the Lhosan Duster I think it was. It was not the model I would have recommended, the safety features are quite minimal compared to some of our other models.”

Lana and Theron both stare at the droid, before turning to each other in confusion. “She… what?” Lana says, sounding baffled and a little worried. “Did she say what she was doing? Or where she was going?”

C2-N2 seems surprised. “Master Lieca said that you wanted her to go and talk to Emperor Valkorion, Master Lana.”

A long, awkward silence follows that sentence.

Theron stares at Lana in growing horror, and it doesn’t ease his mind at all to find her narrowing her eyes at the droid. “I did _no_ such thing!” she says haughtily.

C2 seems to realise its predicament and backs up slightly. “Oh my, this is causing some distress.”

Jezhara waves magnanimously from her spot on the couch. “Yes, I can definitely confirm that Lana was rather _occupied_ all night and never left my-”

“Jezhara!” Lana splutters, face red.

“Never left my side,” she finishes dryly, a smirk on her face, “and was not, at any point, out having strange conversations with Master Amell about our former fuckface Emperor.”

Lana’s face is still flushed quite significantly, and she starts to move forward towards the droid but Theron catches her arm - and something in his expression must have stopped her from whatever more forceful interrogations she’d been considering. “Seetoo, did she take anyone with her?” he asks roughly, doing his best not to let the panic get the better of him. His gut is churning and his head is pounding, but it’s not gonna help Lieca one bit if he starts screaming in her droid’s face. He might not know enough about the Force, but he’s absolutely sure that whatever’s going on is Not Good. _Where is she and what the fuck is going on?_

C2 shakes its head. “No, Master Theron, she left unattended. I would have expected her back by now though, she’s already missed at least two meals, and I always do like to enforce a fairly strict schedule for nourishment. Why, do you know that a Force using individual tends to require in excess of four thousand calories per day to maintain-”

“Okay, you are going to shut up now,” Doc says with forced cheer. “You know, I really think the kidlets need a little pick-me-up down in the nursery, maybe something with like, four tonnes of sugar.”

“Oh, but Master Archiban, sugar is not good in larger quantities, for the sake of dental hygiene-”

“ _Please get out and go feed the kids_.”

Before the droid can interject again, Doc shoves it out into the hallway and slams a hand over the doorpad. The door whispers shut, and C2 can still be heard babbling out in the hallway, apparently undeterred.

Theron closes his eyes for a moment, the hopelessness near to overwhelming; he feels Lana move around in front of him, and the touch of her hand on his shoulder is supposed to be comforting, probably. The look on her face is solemn when he opens his eyes again, and it doesn’t exactly help. “Let me guess, Lana,” he growls, the gnawing panic in his stomach making his tone sharper than he intended. “Your damned ‘ _Force warnings_ ’ started about ten hours ago.”

She almost seems to flinch but nods. “Well, at least I know the source of the disquiet now,” she says hesitantly.

Theron snarls at her before catching sight of Doc’s equally frustrated expression as the older man speaks. “Well, _almighty_ Force users - this is where we usually expect you to jump in,” he drawls, obvious annoyance in his tone.

Jezhara smoothly steps off the couch, moving to her wife’s side and speaking to Doc. “Go to the Force Enclave to find a _proper_ healer to check in on your wife,” she says calmly, with just a trace of haughty disdain. Doc bristles at the insult to his craft. “My experience with him tells me that Valkorion will have attempted to stop her intervening in whatever the hell he’s doing with Lieca. She’s probably fine, but it would be best to have someone skilled in Force healing to have a look over her.”

“She’s _probably_ fine?”

“It is not as though we have much experience in these matters,” she says dismissively. “And your panic serves no purpose, so calm down. Jahlia might have more of an idea of what to expect, but our dear Darth Imperius is still a few days away from arriving here.”

She then pauses, exchanging a significant look with Lana. “And I would not be surprised if the timing was deliberate on Valkorion’s part,” she says with a scowl.

Lana nods. “I believe you are correct, my love. And if Valkorion is involved… well, we can only do what we can. Jezhara and I will go to search for her - if Valkorion is still active, non-Force users may not be safe.”

Theron swallows down the spike of rage at that, well aware that she doesn’t mean it as an insult, but still feeling the brush-off for what it is. They consider him a hindrance. He desperately wants to be the one to find her, but he _knows_ that Lieca would never forgive herself if he charged in blindly and got hurt.

The bitter thought seques into ‘ _maybe if she didn’t want him to run off and get hurt then maybe she should bloody well stay put_ ’ is ungrateful, he knows that, but he’s just so _tired_ and so damned angry at that monster in her head for continuing to torment her like this.

Doc still looks unbearably exhausted, but is evidently a bit more clear-headed than Theron. “Wait, if she took one of the speeders, aren’t you guys able to track it? Considering how out of it she’s been lately, she can’t have gotten far, no matter what the slimy cesspool is doing to her brain.”

Lana raises an eyebrow but it’s Jezhara who turns to the main console. “Holiday!” she calls sharply.

He immediately puffs up, a sparkle of something smug in his tired eyes. “Heh, that’s right, y’all thinking you’re pretty fancy, and yet it’s ol’ Doc here who-”

“Shut up,” Jezhara said flatly.

The pink hologram takes a few seconds to form, enough for the ridges above Jezhara’s eyes to rise, and the poor holographic woman looks frazzled. “I’m sorry, I’m just so busy this morning - SCORPIO has been acting up again, and all of my attention is sidetracking the hacking efforts and-”

Jezhara frowns, ignoring Senya who walks into the room with clear confusion on her face, as though summoned by their distress. “Holiday! Where is the speeder Lieca took?”

Holiday finally looks up from her datapad, eyes remarkably unfocused for a hologram with no physical form. “What? I… wait a moment, please.”

“Holiday…”

“Just wait!” Holiday snaps. “I need time and _space_ and… what is even _happening_ , hang on one moment…”

Doc suddenly yelps, pulling out his buzzing holocom from his pocket; whatever message he sees there causes him to pale, hastening for the door with a mumbled apology. Considering the look on his face, his daughters have probably done something in the scant minutes they’d been left alone - it’s a more pleasant option than the alternative, which is that something has happened to Cera’s condition. The room waits in tense silence for a few more moments before Holiday curses loudly, movements briefly frenzied as her hologram flickers. “What?! How did that not trigger any of my alerts, I don’t understand!” she wails. “Oh, I feel so _useless_!”

Lana is clearly about to test whether it is possible for someone to shake a hologram. “ _Holiday. The speeder_?”

Holiday is clearly in an awful mood, attention jumping all over the place. “I’m sorry, the tracker was disabled before it left. Oh, I’m so sorry. And Lieca’s holocom is still in her room, so you should stop calling it. Flissa says if it rings one more time she’s going to break it. And Lieca’s lightsaber is still there too, but Ona’la moved it out of reach.”

Theron freezes. “So… not only is she out wandering the woods alone, but she isn’t even armed??”

Lana looks like her headache is starting to match his own from the way she rubs her own forehead. “Theron, please-” she says wearily, and he cuts her off.

“No! I will not just sit here and _calm down_ , Beniko! Lieca is _missing_ , and who even freaking knows what’s happening and you all bloody knew and you _kept it from me_ -”

Jezhara catches his arm before he steps forward, a warning look in her bright eyes. He forgets how fast the former Wrath can move sometimes. “Do _not_ blame my wife Shan,” she snaps. “We have been trying to figure this out since we first became suspicious of her absence. And you are not the only one here who loves her.”

He glares at her, but when she doesn’t back down he sinks into the nearby chair, sighing heavily. “I know. I just… kriffing hells, I _worry_.”

Lana squeezes his shoulder and Senya steps forward, looking apologetic. “I am sorry to interrupt,” she says softly, “but I think the Voss might know something.”

All eyes snap to her. “The Voss?” Lana asks quickly.

She nods. “Not Sana-Rae - the new arrival. When he arrived, they spoke for a time and she was very unsettled by something he said. I think he knew this was going to happen - though of course I did not realise at the time.”

Lana raises an eyebrow. “That Voss mystic? Maybe we should go talk to him first. Jezhara, are you coming?”

The Sith nods, still watching Theron cautiously. He doesn’t need to see her to know she’s gesturing at him - _nooo, can’t leave the spy alone to brood, he might do something stupid, guess we better get someone to watch him, no he can’t be trusted after all_ -

His suspicions are confirmed a moment later when Lana makes a call through her earpiece, voice eventually drifting out of range as she heads for the door. “Koth? I need you in the war room… no, I don’t care what you are doing, this is important! Ugh, fine, bring your husband with you, I don’t care. Yes, you can just continue your pilot talk here. Yes, if you continue making lovey-dovey eyes, I’m afraid someone may poke them out. Yes, I am on my way to see you, so if you don’t meet me halfway so help me-”

The door hasn’t even closed before Flissa suddenly rushes through it, closely followed by Ona’la, and the entire room freezes as she throws herself into Theron’s lap on the chair, arms around his neck. He shoots a very panicked look at Ona’la before turning his attention to the child clinging to him like a lifeline. “Ona’la?” he asks hesitantly, and she gestures helplessly to the little girl in his lap.

Flissa pulls back, eyes shining with tears. “I can’t find Mama,” she says tearfully. “You’re not mad, are you?”

He stares at Lieca’s daughter, still completely bewildered as to why she would come looking for him in the first place. Probably just because Cera is apparently in some sort of weird coma, and Doc is running around trying to help her. “Flissa… no, of course I’m not mad,” he says soothingly, gently wiping a tear off her cheek. “Well, I’m mad at whatever is trying to hurt your mum. I’m not mad at you. Why would I be?”

She sniffs. “You don’t have the Force, so it’s my job to tell you about it,” she says determinedly. Her face crumbles. “And I could always find Mama before… but now I can’t, and it’s like she’s _gone_ and Aunty Cera’s gone too and nobody can find them!”

It’s remarkable how much he suddenly sympathises with an eight-year-old. “It’s okay, uh, sweetie,” he mutters, rubbing her back awkwardly.

She gives him a weird look, still obviously upset, but she nods miserably and buries her face on his chest; he tries not to wince when he feels her tears soak straight through to his skin. Jezhara steps away from them, with the clear intention of going after her wife. “We’ll call as soon as we hear anything,” she says softly, exchanging some sort of look he can’t read with Ona’la.

Which leaves Theron with a very upset child to comfort, and a whole bunch of horrifying worse-case scenarios he has to try to ignore while he looks after her.

Lieca… she’ll be fine. Of course she will be. There’s no way something’s happened to her just after he got her back… no way at all.

He hasn’t even had the chance to figure out his own feelings again yet, let alone tell her. She _has_ to come home soon.

 

* * *

 

Lieca comes to slowly, wincing as she starts to move her head and pulls at the crick in her neck. It takes a few moments longer to realise she is lying on the ground, thus explaining the sore neck, and she seems to be... outside?

 _What_?

The last thing she remembers is waking up at her desk and…

Wait. No, there was something else.

She frowns, trying to concentrate, and not really focusing on the world around her. Lana was there, Lana told her to… come out here? To… talk?

She blinks rapidly as she the memories muddle around in her head, dripping away like the aftermath of a dream, before hearing a voice she’d really rather never hear again. “So, you’re finally awake my dear.”

She might be tired and confused, but she’s still quick enough to instinctively use the Force to grab the nearest clump of dirt and hurl it directly at Valkorion’s smug face. If it had been anyone else, she might have been horrified at her reaction but, well, she’s _very_ tired.

The dirt passes through him without any resistance, and his expression changes to one of annoyance. “Just as lively as ever, I see.”

She scowls, ignoring the sliver of panic in her belly. “I think I see a smudge of dirt on your cheek,” she observes politely, slowly pulling herself up off the ground and dusting off her skirt. The sky above her is dark, with only the stars for guidance - none of the familiar perimetre floodlights are in view. The sliver of panic turns into a flutter.“Where are we?”

He shrugs, his expression smug despite his annoyance. “Does it matter?”

She grits her teeth. Her muscles are aching from having slept on the ground, and she feels that particular sort of unpleasant that can only come from sweating in her sleep; she desperately wants a shower and somewhere comfortable to sit down. She can’t see buildings anywhere nearby, so she must have walked far further than she thought or… “Is that one of the base’s speeders?”

Valkorion doesn’t even move other than to raise an eyebrow and she glares at him. “That is Alliance property, you can’t just steal that!”

The look on his face makes her skin crawl. “My dear, I assure you that I did not take the speeder,” he says, with the sort of patronisingly soothing tone she has come to expect from him. “I do not even have a body with which to ‘ _steal_ ’ one. You did that all by yourself.”

She pulls herself up to her full height, turning the full power of her disapproving ‘ _mother glare_ ’ on him. “That is very rude,” she says crossly, moving over to see if the speeder’s tracking device has been disabled too. Hopefully they didn’t go far...

Valkorion smirks and she represses a shudder at the sight. “I’m afraid you won’t find it functional,” he says, with false sympathy. “You sabotaged it just after we arrived here. _Such_ a pity.”

She tries not to roll her eyes, climbing back to her feet and dusting off her hands. “Why are we here?” she asks with clenched teeth.

He tsks. “That is rather blunt for an esteemed diplomat.”

She sighs again, looking down for a moment to collect herself before looking back up with an expression of exaggeratedly false cheer. “Oh, I am _so_ sorry, your _magnanimous majesty_. Please, won’t you be so kind as to inform the Alliance as to the whereabouts of our current location? It would be _extremely gracious_ of you to help our organisation, and continue to maintain a strong relationship between our two _great_ nations,” she says sweetly, before clasping her hands demurely before her. “Of course, if you would also like to step off that cliff over there, I shall be sure to send heartfelt notices of congratulations to Zakuul after the appropriate mourning period of three minutes has passed.”

He looks displeased, and she mentally adds another tally to the board. “Three minutes?”

She smiles faintly. “It has meaning,” she says, pausing. “Unlike most of our conversations.”

“Ah. You’re thinking of the pilot.”

She frowns at the reminder of his constant intrusion in her thoughts. “He is my friend, and he shows a faith in you that you do not deserve - and I will _not_ tolerate your rudeness towards him, so hush.” She crosses her arms. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To see if I could.” That smile again, it makes her skin crawl like a piece of ice has just slithered down her spine. “It was remarkably easy to twist your thoughts accordingly - I have told you time and time again of the importance of heeding my words, and yet you continue to defy me at every turn!”

Lieca smiles thinly. “Perhaps if you were less rude, given that this is a situation of your own making, things would not be so terrible,” she says sweetly, turning her attention back to the speeder. “Is it any wonder that I do not wish to speak to you, ever?”

She sighs, crouching next to the speeder and prising off the maintenance hatch; she hasn’t the faintest clue what to do in order to get it functional again, but maybe something will conveniently say ‘ _press here_ ’. “But you have obviously brought me here for a reason,” she says, grimacing at the twisted array of wires that have all been wrenched from their sockets. “Speak and say what you have to say and be done with it. I am tired.”

“Why would I want to help you?”

“Because you brought me here? What kind of question is that? Why am I here in the woods?”

She huffs at his lack of response and continues looking over the speeder, taking a stab in the dark and beginning to plug the wires back into what she hopes are the most likely sockets for them. Just when it occurs to her that his silence has gone on for too long, she suddenly feels her stomach drop at the sensation similar to ice water running down her back.

“Because it is far easier when your guard is down, my dear.”

She crosses her arms in front of her face on instinct, the Force shield barely enough to blunt his initial attack. She falls backwards onto her bottom, overbalanced from where she was crouched behind the speeder, and she can feel her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

He should not be able to use the Force. He is a ghost, nothing more, and yet she felt that attack. The speeder has very clearly been shoved a good few inches across the rocky, dirt ground, fresh gouge marks in the soil.

_How is he doing that?_

Valkorion stands there, radiating smugness with one hand outstretched. “You thought that you could just seal me away and ignore the consequences?” With a sharp, jerking gesture, he thrusts the hand to the left, and the speeder goes careening against the nearby rocks; it explodes, the fuel cells rupturing from the impact. Lieca throws her arms up again as bits of rock and plasteel rain down on her. “I will not be bound to such a disobedient child!”

She stands up on suddenly shaky legs, not bothering to look for the lightsaber she knows he wouldn’t have let her bring. “I will not listen to you, now or ever!” she says, her voice clear despite the way her knees tremble. “You are cruel and violent and decidedly unhelpful, and I am _not_ your child.”

His eyes are dark and empty. “And yet you do not even question _this_. How do you feel, Lieca?”

She flinches at his use of her name, the familiarity of it making her stomach roil. She does feel exhausted and light-headed and… she does not remember how she got out here. The thought terrifies her more than she can say. The knowledge that he can actively possess her so easily… it’s too awful to even think on, her mind shying away from the obvious. “Either help me, or go away,” she says defiantly.

He stares, and she has to fight not to fall to her knees in a jibbering, terrified mess. “I am not your servant,” he says, “and you are not my equal. You have trifled with my patience for the last time!”

This time she is prepared for the flash of lightning, but she has no time to wonder _how_ he is doing it before she raises her shield again. The shimmering, barely-perceptible barrier holds, but she winces at the flash of pain in her mind, the sensation flickering unpleasantly down her arms.

Valkorion snarls in annoyance that she’s still standing, and she feels herself weakening rapidly… wait, is he doing that? She realises with a surge of horror that she can’t feel any of the Force bonds she normally has, no sense of her daughter or her sister or Nadia or even Arcann, and the panic hits before she can school her expression. “What did you do to them?” she shouts, over the crackle of the lightning.

The former Emperor hisses, sending a rock flying towards her unprotected flank; she manages to slap it out of the air with a push of the Force, but her shield wavers dangerously. “I did nothing, my dear Jedi,” he calls, his tone unearthly and condescending, “that was entirely your doing. You fought me, even as weakened as you were, and you chose to conceal the bonds when we came out here. Rather than protect your own mind from my control, you protected them instead. Such a pathetic weakness. Such a wasteful use of resources.”

She frowns, panting from exertion as she tries to hold her hands steady in front of her to hold the shield up, and drawing the obvious conclusion. “You… you were the one who bound Arcann and I,” she shouts hesitantly. He wanted another weakness to exploit.

His expression shifts, and she realises she caught him off-guard. “The connection was already all but there,” he snaps, clearly annoyed at her insight. “You continue trying to reach out towards my son - I chose to show you what a useless decision that was!”

The words set a fire in her belly, and she pushes up, managed to ricochet the lightning back at him. He staggers, and she takes a moment to desperately regather her strength. “He is not useless, he is your son! If he is supposedly such a failure, that is your failing as his parent!”

“My my, so outspoken today,” he tuts in response, sneering at her, and she shudders. “Such a pity that you will not be around much longer - I’d be delighted to see what other inanities you could regale me with.”

She blinks in confusion, and the distraction is enough; his next attack takes her by surprise, and Lieca is knocked to the ground by the strike thundering in from her blind spot, the shield shattering around her. She cries out as she lands badly, her palms grazed on the gravel of the riverbank. What was he even trying to do? Dragging her out here just to prove that he could, messing with her mind to show just how powerful an influence he could have over her mind… wait.

He laughs as she crawls to her knees. “Pitiful. Why did I ever believe you could change anything?!”

She scowls at him, spitting the blood out of her mouth from a wound she doesn’t even remember and is choosing not to dwell on. Why is this fight happening in the world instead of in her mind? Valkorion has spoken to her in her mind any number of times, and his influence on the physical world has always seemed limited. There has to be a point to all of this. “You have no idea what I am capable of,” she says curtly, lurching back to sit on her calves.

He sounds disgusted when he speaks, still tall and confident and all but radiating power. Untouched by their brief conflict. “And neither do you - that is the problem, Lieca.”

She tries to get up, and realises that she _can’t_. “What are you doing to me?” she asks quickly, the Force reacting to her panic and rushing to her limbs to try to find a wound to heal.

Valkorion clucks his tongue at her. “You are weak, Jedi. This Alliance is not living up to its full potential, and time and again you refuse my power and wisdom. I will not allow this to continue. The Eternal Throne belongs to you… and if you do not take it yourself, I will _make you_.”

She screams as he presses on her mind; the strength of his presence grows in her mind, suffocating her, and the realisation that he is draining her to try to actively possess her causes her to panic. “I will not let you do this!” she snarls brokenly, the Force whirling around her so fast she can barely think.

She definitely feels the flash of lightning this time, and the golden shield that flickers over her skin is her last resort - but still not strong enough to block him out. “ _No! Get away from me!_ ”

The Force suddenly rushes back the other way, towards Valkorion, who clearly was not expecting it from his shout of pain. Lieca lies there, panting and twitching from the effects of his Force lightning, and even the effort of trying to heal herself makes her want to pass out.

She almost recognises the Force signatures that approach, but she is too exhausted to figure out what is happening before she lapses into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Lieca comes to with the feeling of a warm hand against her forehead; it slowly slides down to cup her cheek when the owner realises that she is waking up. “Lieca. Thank the Force.”

She slowly opens her eyes, struggling to place the voice. “What… who are you?” she rasps, her throat raw from screaming. She blinks rapidly to clear her eyes before being able to focus on the person in front of her. “... Master Satele? Is that you?” she croaks.

The tension on the older woman’s face fades into a soft smile. “Yes, it is me. You are safe now.”

She can’t help it - she bursts into tears. Satele’s arms instantly move around her, hugging her close, and right now she doesn’t care if she is just another vision or something else to torment her, she’s not letting go.

It’s a few long minutes before she settles again, and Satele draws back to cup her face again. “My dear child,” she says fondly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “It’s alright now.”

She instinctively pushes against Valkorion’s presence in her mind, and again comes up empty. She almost panics again, but Satele quickly shushes her. “Don’t worry, he’s gone. We’ve sealed him, for now.”

“How do I know I can trust you? What if you’re another trick? Another one of his?”

Satele’s face softens further, a touch of sympathy in her eyes. “You can touch me and see my face. You could not do that before.”

She scrunches up her nose, the raging headache rearing its head again. “You don’t know that,” she pleads. “Say something only you would say.”

Satele smiles. “I’ve never seen my son happier than he is when he is with you.”

Lieca stares at her old mentor, feeling her cheeks flush, and Satele laughs. “Or perhaps something else,” she says in amusement. “A shared memory, perhaps? How about the time I was in charge of disciplining Cera for Toffee Incident Number Two, in the temple kitchens on Tython - I deliberately gave her the wrong materials to help me archive so that she would try to cheat, fail her next exam, and require additional lessons with Yuon rather than sparring practice with Orgus.”

Lieca gapes at her. “I knew it,” she mumbles. “Cera was so cross with you.”

Satele smiles. “It tempered her brashness, and her impulsive nature to some extent, and it taught her the value of honest work as opposed to taking shortcuts through dishonest means. And if nothing else, it did appear to prevent any threat of further Toffee Incidents, so I suppose in the end it was all worth it. Do you require something more substantial?”

Lieca frowns, desperate to believe her but still so desperately afraid of the trickery Valkorion might be capable of. “That’s a leading question,” she says hesitantly. “What other memory do you want to share?”

Satele’s smile softens, her eyes shining. “When I gave Flissa your holocron a few years ago, she called me Grandmother, and I don’t think Theron has ever quite recovered.”

She flushes, her headache spiking as Satele helps her to sit up properly. “Oh.”

Satele chuckles, looking to the side to grab a cup of water and bring it to her lips. “Drink slowly dear, you’re still recovering.”

Lieca drinks gratefully, shifting her hand to rub her temple when she’s done. “What happened? Where is he?”

Satele clasps her shoulder to keep her steady. “We found you in the woods, and with our help you were able to seal him. I do not know how long the seal will last, but for now - he cannot hurt you anymore. I’m so proud of you Lieca, you’ve been so strong.”

She almost wants to cry again, Satele’s grip on her shoulder tightening in comfort. “But, how?”

There’s a shimmer over Satele’s shoulder, and to her amazement the Force reveals the soft blue presence of Darth Marr, arms folded and still hidden behind his armour. “To seal the Emperor was no easy task, but it was made possible by the help of those both living and dead.”

“Darth Marr?”

He nods. “We hoped that we would be here on time. I am… glad to see that you are well, Master Amell.”

She grins weakly. “I think after everything, you could probably start to call me Lieca. Especially if you acted to save me just now.”

Darth Marr makes absolutely no acknowledgement of her comment, not even moving, but Satele rolls her eyes at him. Lieca frowns. “But how were you two even here? I had no idea you were on Odessen.”

Satele glances away almost guiltily, and Marr speaks first. “We intended to join your Alliance,” he says stiffly. “But the history of events since the Zakuulan invasion…” He does not need to mention the heavy losses taken by both the Sith and the Jedi, but it is there in the air between them all the same. “Needless to say, there was no easy way to contact you and yours without consequence.”

Satele shoots him a look. “We waited, for a sign in the Force, or anything that would confirm we were making the right choice,” she said softly. “The Force led us here, just in time.”

Lieca opens her mouth to ask another question, but Marr gruffly beats her to it. “The Force is strong on this world, but neutral - Beniko has no doubt told you of this. In that sense, the world itself acted as a shield for Shan and I, and our respective presences were cloaked by each other.”

Satele sighs. “And so you could not find us, until we wanted you to,” she says softly, smiling slightly. “I should hope that acting to save their Commander might endear us to the Alliance somewhat.”

Lieca frowns. “I am not their Commander, Cera is,” she says.

Marr sighs. “It matters not. You are both the symbol of this Alliance, ergo working to aid you aids the Alliance.”

Satele smiles at her. “Walking in with you might require less smoothing over than just showing up at your door,” she says sheepishly. “But, I am just glad that we were able to help you in time. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”

She can’t stop herself pushing against the part of her mind Valkorion had claimed for his own, like a patient constantly prodding a healing wound to ensure it’s still there, and it still unsettles her to feel _nothing_. “He’s really gone?” she asks in a small voice.

Satele’s expression fades. “He is still bound to you,” she says quietly. “That, we cannot change, but for now he cannot hurt you. I do not know how long we can hold him, but we will try to give you as long as we can. You deserve to be able to enjoy this time with your family - especially after so long without them.”

“But… _how_?”

Satele’s eyes almost seem to be twinkling. “The Force works in mysterious ways?”

Marr sighs, sounding annoyed. “It is a strain upon us both, yes. But despite the power of yourself and your sister, we do have decades of experience over the two of you. I think we are more than capable of handling this.”

Satele nods. “I suspect it is somewhat easier for us because we represent two sides of the same coin - light and dark, life and death. You and your sister are too similar to shut him out. So we will do this for you - give you time, until we can find a more permanent solution.”

Marr huffs. “I personally take great satisfaction in denying Valkorion - especially when it was his very actions against me, leading to my death, that guarantee this course of action,” he says, all but radiating smugness. He cackles, an odd sound to hear from the stoic sith. “It is a good feeling.”

The moment is broken by Lieca’s stomach growling loudly for attention, and she flushes bright red even as Satele laughs. The elder Master squeezes her hand. “I’ll go find you something to eat, don’t you worry,” she says fondly.

She looks to Darth Marr to distract herself while she waits, trying to find some way to convey her thankfulness. “‘ _Thank you_ ’ does not seem sufficient,” she says at last, looking at her lap.

He doesn’t make a noise as he moves, and when she looks up, he is kneeling in front of her to be closer to her eye level. The gesture seems to be pointless, given that even in his spectral form, he retains the mask he wore in life, but she can appreciate the motivation behind it. “Your thanks are not necessary,” he says stiffly, before pausing. “But, they are appreciated.”

She nods respectfully at him and after a moment he returns her gesture. Her smile turns dazzling. “So, does this mean we _are_ friends now?”

Darth Marr seems remarkably taken aback for a man whose face she cannot see, and is quiet for a long moment. “Jedi, you never cease to amaze me,” he says finally.

She grins wider. “That’s not a ‘ _no_ ’,” she chants childishly.

He merely stares at her again, and she quietens again before curiosity strikes. “May I ask a question?”

He folds his arms. “In addition to the one you have already asked? I suppose I can allow this.”

She nods again. “Thank you,” she says politely, pausing for a moment. “Is your mask now because it’s your preference, or do you enjoy hiding your expressions to make yourself harder to read? Or is it not something you have any particular say over?”

He pauses. “An oddly personal question,” he notes ominously.

She smiles sweetly. “I have not had much experience with Force ghosts, that was mostly Jahlia’s speciality,” she admits. “But, the scholar in me cannot help but remain curious. Is it the form you took in life, or do you control it and may choose how you appear?”

“I will answer your question… in return, you must ensure that Darth Imperius does not attempt to bind _my_ soul also.”

She chuckles. “Jahlia returned the souls after her battle with Thanaton, you know that,” she says quietly. “And… I must admit, I had heard that you might not be so personally hostile to her?”

It is rather indelicate of her, but she is tired, and curious. Darth Marr does not move, remaining in stony-faced silence, and she’s fairly certain he’s going to walk away rather than answer her question. He is as impassive in death as he was in life.

“That was one temporary lapse of judgement, not to be repeated,” he says, taking her by surprise; she truly had not expected him to acknowledge the jibe. He stands up again to loom over her. “Your question is unnecessary.”

She winces. “I am sorry for my rudeness,” she says quietly. “This does not truly convey my gratitude, does it?”

“Indeed,” he replies, folding his arms. “As to your original question, I keep the mask because it is my personal preference. I could change my form if I wanted to.”

The long silence that follows is broken by Satele’s return, holding a tray of food in her hands. “We only have simple fare here, but it’s filling,” she says apologetically. “Hopefully Beniko finds us soon and we can take you back home.”

Lieca blinks at her in surprise. “What?”

Satele smiles indulgently. “We dropped our wards in the Force when you awoke. I suspect it is only a matter of time before Beniko finds us - I can vaguely sense her out in the woods. She will be relieved to see that you are safe.”

Lieca’s eyes widen. “How long was I out?” she asks urgently.

Satele frowns. “Quite some time, I’m afraid. I would allow you to use our comms to contact your family - but mine are obviously not programmed with the Alliance codes,” she says gently before her tone turns mildly scolding. “And if you wish to reassure your family directly, you should stop shielding _yourself_ through the Force too. You are repressing your Force bonds, and it’s hurting your sister at the very least. She needs to know that you are safe, and then she can reassure the others.”

It’s rather amazing how one scolding from Satele is enough to make her feel like a teenager all over again. “Yes, Master Satele,” she says with a wince.

Thank goodness they don’t seem to know about her bond with Arcann.


	19. Reunions

Lieca drifts off to sleep again shortly after eating, still utterly exhausted from the last few weeks of trying to contain Valkorion, and all exacerbated by the fight that nearly killed her. Even her worry about her loved ones being left behind had not been able to keep her awake - Cera’s flare of concern as soon as she let her in again had backed off almost immediately, but still radiating exhausted ‘ _oh, we are so talking about this when you get home_ ’ vibes.

When she finally wakes, Satele gently helps her to move outside to show her the meditation area she has made outside the ship, and the familiarity of the scene, even so far from Tython, almost brings her to tears. It’s so incredibly freeing, being able to just sit and quietly meditate without having to endure Valkorion’s snide comments in her mind. Meditation had always been a source of relief and comfort to her - just another thing Valkorion had tried to take away from her, to poison as he tried to mold her into his puppet.

She shudders, rolling her shoulders to throw off her thoughts, and feels Marr’s presence materialise nearby. The Sith Lord still stands imposingly above her even in death, arms folded and face unreadable through his mask, but there’s some vaguely protective about his stance too.

“We will not let him harm you,” he says defiantly. “We will hold him as long as we can.”

She can see the strain on Satele’s face, but her old mentor shakes her head as though she can see where her thoughts are going. “Please, Lieca, do not worry for us. We know what we are doing.”

But she can't help but worry, especially when people she cares about are in danger, and Satele sighs before smiling affectionately. “You haven't changed at all, have you?”

She brightens, comforted to hear that Valkorion hasn't made too noticeable an effect on her. “I was sleeping for five years,” she says softly, the mood flickering even as she says it. Satele’s face is carefully neutral, and she shakes off her morbid thoughts. “Cera has gotten bossier, though.”

Satele laughs and Marr sighs. “The Battlemaster has always been formidable,” he notes. “I am unsurprised to find her here, leading this Alliance.”

Lieca chuckles. “Yes, because it wasn't challenging enough, raising her girls. They keep everyone on their toes.”

Satele nods. “I told Cera that her twins were perhaps wished upon her by her old masters,” she says dryly, before her merriment fades. “I... I am glad that the two of you were able to keep your children close.”

Lieca stretches out to squeeze her arm, almost overbalancing in the process. “Theron will be alright,” she says quickly. “He just... needs time.”

The look Satele gives her hardly seems convinced. “Having a lover constantly in danger due to her connection to the Force hardly endears him to it.”

She flushes, still embarrassed at how Satele found out they were involved with one another all those years ago. Hearing Satele refer to them brings it all back. “It would have been easier for him if he had walked away,” she notes quietly.

Satele raises an eyebrow. “Easier? Even before you were together, Theron clearly cared for you as his friend. I do not think he could walk away - at least, not with his heart intact,” she says before frowning. “You both deserve some happiness. If you make each other happy, that should be enough.”

“All I do is make him worry.”

Satele moves her hand to squeeze hers. “Nonsense,” she says gently.

Lieca closes her eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the comfort and not her overwhelming thoughts. She then opens one eye to look at Satele. “So, what you're saying is that you saved me because Theron would be upset if you didn’t?” she asks, tone mildly teasing.

Satele gives her a droll look. “Theron’s feelings are so inconsequential in this scenario as to be nonexistent,” she says. “We saved you for _you_ , my dear.”

Marr speaks again, sounding annoyed. “And for the fate of the galaxy,” he says crossly, before turning on his heel and vanishing from sight again.

Satele chuckles under her breath. “That too. You are important to many people, for many reasons.”

She flushes, looking down at her lap. “Thank you,” she says softly.

She squeezes her fingers, but releases her hand when she sees her embarrassment doesn’t abate. “You and your family are doing a wonderful thing here,” she continues. “I hope the sacrifices will be worth it.”

Lieca’s expression sharpens, and she looks up at her mentor’s suddenly sad eyes. “Wait, what sacr-”

“ _There you are_!”

Both Lieca and Satele whip their heads around to see Lana and Jezhara speeding towards them atop a hoverbike from the edge of the clearing; Lana is practically radiating incensed fury like a bloodied red cloud, while Jezhara seems more intrigued than angry as she pulls the bike to a halt. “ _What do you think you are doing?_ ” the blonde Sith snarls as she leaps from her seat behind Jezhara and stalks towards them.

Lieca winces. “Hello, Lana,” she says quietly.

Jezhara stays back near the bike, sharp eyes on Satele who stays silent while Lana looks like she wants to shake Lieca. “Don’t you ‘ _hello Lana_ ’ me!” she snaps, and if Lieca didn’t already know that she didn’t have children, she would have considered that Lana had perfected that tone for use on unruly offspring.

Of course, considering the cast of equally unruly characters in the Alliance, that assessment might not be entirely inaccurate…

Lana cuts off her train of thought, gesturing wildly towards them both. “What is this? What the hell is going on, and why in all the bloody fucking caves of Korriban itself did you just run off? _No note, no calls, no word, nothing_!”

Satele lifts her hands in a gesture of placation. “Lord Beniko,” she starts politely, and Lana rounds on her too.

“And _you_! What are _you_ doing here? Do _not_ tell me that Lieca came out here to meet you with _no word_ , because _so help me_ -”

Lieca frantically waves her hands, quickly trying to get to her feet. “Lana! Lana, it’s alright,” she says, stumbling a little and supported by Satele who jumps up next to her. “They found me, they saved me. It’s fine, everything’s fine.”

Lana inhales, clearly about to start again, and Lieca steps forward to catch her hands, smiling sweetly. “Lana! Lana I’m fine now. I’m so glad to see you, I was worried.”

She seems vaguely thrown by the gesture, turning back to her wife who is still watching Satele closely and gestures helplessly.

Lieca’s smile softens, squeezing Lana’s hands. “Lana, they helped me shut him out. He’s gone for now, and I can think for myself and sleep easily and I’m just… I’m so happy to see you.”

Lana is still obviously conflicted between her desire to shake her and her desire to embrace her, but Jezhara moves closer, gaze sharp as she studies at Satele. “She keeps saying ‘they’,” she says ominously. “Who else is here, Shan?”

Satele raises an eyebrow. “It is good to see you as well, Lord Jezhara,” she says politely.

Jezhara folds her arms. “Great. If the entire Jedi Council is here, I am so leaving.”

Darth Marr materialises just beside Lieca, arms folded in a similar pose and admittedly far more intimidating than the Sith Pureblood in her casual wear.

Lana lurches back a step, and Jezhara actually looks shocked. “What?” she hisses.

Darth Marr lets out a _hmph_ sound, apparently pleased. “Lord Wrath. It is indeed a pleasure to so obviously unsettle you.”

She glares at him. “You are _supposed_ to be dead.”

“And am I not?”

“Not dead enough!”

He sighs. “You have not changed at all have you? As blunt as ever.”

She bares her teeth at him and Lieca hurriedly interjects. “Please, everyone. You have all done so much to look out for me and my well-being - please don’t start fighting now.”

The former Emperor’s Wrath and unofficial leader of the Dark Council continue glaring at each other (well, she can only assume Marr is glaring), but they do seem to grudgingly listen as neither of them attempts to continue the argument. She gives them both a quick sunny smile.

Lana squeezes Lieca’s hands, drawing her attention again. “What the hell happened?” she asks urgently.

Lieca feels her expression fade. “I… I don’t know,” she says helplessly. “I… I remember waking up in my room and… you, or, someone I _thought_ was you was talking to me and I just… the details are fuzzy.”

Jezhara takes her eyes off Marr to look at her. “You told your droid that my wife told you to go and talk to Valkorion,” she says bluntly. “Imagine our surprise at that improbable turn of events.”

Lieca blinks at her in surprise. “What? I don’t remember…I just remember waking up in the forest and… my memory is all in pieces, even now.”

From beside her Satele clears her throat, drawing the ire of the female Sith again. “It is our understanding that Valkorion tried to actively possess you,” she says softly. “He was clearly in the middle of such an endeavour when we found you.”

Lieca realises she must have flinched, as Lana is looking at her with concern. “Lieca, are you alright?” she asks quickly.

She draws back, her hands stinging again as though Satele had not healed the grazes along her palms. “I… I do not wish to talk about it,” she says quickly, drawing her arms around herself for a moment. “What matters is that he’s gone.”

Lana’s expression softens as she draws back, but her eyes narrow at her words. “Gone? You said that earlier, but I’m afraid I don’t understand…”

Satele smiles grimly. “Marr and myself are keeping him sealed for now. He is still unfortunately in her mind - but we will give her what time we can so that the Alliance can try to determine how to remove him.”

Lana’s frown deepens. “How?” she demands. “We already tried so much-”

Marr growls. “As we said earlier with Master Amell, we have significantly greater experience and power than anyone in your Alliance. Together, we are capable of things that you and yours are not.”

Lana bristles at the dismissal, and Satele sighs. “He speaks the truth. We also believe it is a contributing factor that Marr has joined with the Force - he can strike where the rest of us cannot.”

Darth Marr is all but radiating satisfaction at those words, and Lieca feels a shiver run down her spine at the ruthless glee in his voice. “Mark my words, I relish this opportunity.”

Jezhara moves behind Lana, grabbing her shoulder. “Your capacity for revenge is noted,” she says dryly. “Although your posturing is unnecessary. You-”

Lana quickly cuts her wife off with a warning glare, pulling her holocom from her pocket. “Don’t you two start again,” she says crossly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to let everyone know we found Lieca.”

She steps away to make the call and Jezhara rolls her eyes, making a quick rude gesture at Marr before smartly turning on her heel to pointedly ignore his response.

Lana’s call apparently connects but by the faint ringing, no one is answering, and she glares at it. “Oh, it’s fine,” she grumbles, “no-one needs to pick up, there’s only important news to share. Whatever suits you all.”

Lieca’s heart jumps into her throat as Theron’s image suddenly appears on Lana’s holo, looking exhausted even across the holonet, and she feels a vast wave of guilt. “ _Sorry I didn’t sprint across the room any faster Lana_ ,” he snaps, arms folded before his ire fades into near desperation. “ _Please, tell me you’ve found her?_ ”

Lana nods. “We have. She’s here, alive and well even.”

Theron exhales roughly, fingers moving to the bridge of his nose as he sinks into a nearby chair. “ _Thank the Force_ ,” he says desperately. “ _Where is she? Where are you?_ ”

Lana gestures over her shoulder. “I’ve sent the coordinates for our position through to Holiday, but judging by the ship behind me I don’t think we’ll need a pickup.”

His brow furrows, his confused expression visible even over Lana’s shoulder and through a tiny blue version of himself. “ _What? Did you say a ship? Lana, what the hell is going on?_ ”

Lana sighs. “It’s a long story,” she says eventually. “We can talk about it when we’re back. For now, you should probably talk to her,” she continues, prompting turning around and pushing her holo into Lieca’s hands.

She fumbles awkwardly, but quickly rights the device, smiling shyly and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Hi Theron,” she says softly.

He’s staring at her as though not entirely convinced it’s her, and after a moment he drops his gaze and rubs the back of his neck. “ _You need to stop doing this to me_ ,” he says roughly, in a voice that makes her heart break just a little. “ _But it’s good to see your face again_ ”.

She winces, sensing Lana shooing the others away. “I’m sorry I worried you,” she says quickly, turning her back to them all to give herself a little more privacy. “I didn’t mean to.”

He sighs. “ _Liss, you never mean to_ ,” he replies, sounding sad and a little frustrated. “ _And… I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m just… promise me you’re alright now? Please_.”

She nods. “Theron, I promise I’m okay,” she answers. “Valkorion, he… but it’s fine now, I promise. They helped me seal him.”

His eyebrows lift and he leans forward, suddenly interested. “What? Who sealed him?”

She sighs. “We’ll explain later. But for now… Master Satele is here. With me. Now. She helped me.”

Theron freezes. “ _What? My… my mother’s here?_ ”

She nods. “I just… I thought you should know before we walked in,” she says hesitantly. “But I… I promise things will be better now.”

He still looks exhausted, but there’s a slight smile on his face. “ _They better be._ ”

 

* * *

 

Calli swears under her breath in a multitude of languages, shoulder still stinging from the ridiculous angle she had to twist into to access her lockpicks, which are not bloody fucking piece of shit working now, are they? And of _course_ the fucking collar on her neck isn’t helping, putting too much pressure on her neck whenever she moves, and for fuck’s sake, she’s so fucking _angry_.

The stuncuffs stubbornly stay on, and if they weren’t attached to her wrists and causing her such grief in the first place, she would absolutely hurl them at the wall while imagining the wall as Geralt’s stupid smug face.

“ _Come on Calli, you know what would be fun?_ ” she mutters angrily to herself, affecting the tone she always uses when imitating Geralt. “ _We should go take out a Star Fortress, that would be a super great time. We can totally do it Cal, come on!_ ”

Admittedly, it had been a goal for the Alliance for a while, especially now since they had so much information about the defences of the battle stations. The information had come from various sources - the Emperor’s terminals the night Lieca had escaped, the tap on communications by Havoc Squad, and Calli’s efforts on the Gilded Star. And then the chocolate sauce on top (because cherries are gross) - extra tidbits gleaned by Holiday’s monitoring of SCORPIO’s actions, including even more detail about the GEMINI droids in command of the Eternal Fleet, and their potential links to the Exarchs.

But their focus needs to be freeing up some of the worlds of potential allies before they start trying to combat the Fleet. So, even though they hadn’t technically received _permission_ to do this exact thing - Geralt’s usual brand of persuasion was to charm his way both in and out of trouble, rather than ask first, a habit that still clearly exasperates Risha - here they were on the Star Fortress above Alderaan.

However, in Geralt’s defence, getting captured wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but how in the hell was she supposed to know the elite Skytroopers knew how to tamper with her stealth generator?

She curses angrily, still muttering about how much she’s going to beat Geralt into a pulp when she gets out, when she just about jumps a mile when she hears his voice.

“Well well, look who it is!”

She shrieks and does a rather undignified hop to spin in place to face him. “Geralt! Fuck! Don’t scare me like that!”

He grins at her from the other side of the cell, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps you should pay more attention to your surroundings, sweetheart.”

The note of actual concern in his voice instantly has her on the defensive, and she retreats a half-step. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted trying to break out of this fucking cell,” she snaps.

He frowns at her, well aware of all her tells by now. “Calli…”

“ _Don’t_.”

He sighs. “About getting you out-”

She angrily points to the nearby console, immeasurably frustrated at having to use both hands to do so and trying not to wince as the angry gesture pulls at the collar around her neck. “Go find one of the guards and get his datapad and I’ll talk you through it.”

Geralt sighs. “Sweetheart, you wound me,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the requested datapad and shaking it in front of her face. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t trust me.”

Calli sighs again, blowing her hair off her forehead. “Fuck you, Geralt.”

He tsks as he steps away towards the console and out of sight of the camera. “I know I’m irresistible, but please. At least wait until the security field’s down before you start ordering me around like that.”

Calli glares after him, going with dignified silence as her response.

But she's so glad he's here.

A minute or so later, the field in front of the cell deactivates and Geralt then reappears, carrying some sort of tool in his hands. “Pure pazaak. Aren’t you glad to see me now?”

She huffs at him, holding her wrists out in front of her. “Just unlock these fucking things, they’re hurting me.”

He clicks his tongue at her as he unlocks the cuffs. “So demanding. You like this all the time, babe?”

She immediately swats at him, but he ducks out of reach and steps behind her to unlock the collar around her neck too. She gasps when he pulls it free, and he gently rubs the back of her neck, looking worried. “You okay, Calli?”

She frowns, stretching her neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I’m fine Geralt,” she says irritably before tilting her head up at him curiously. “How did you know where I was anyway?”

He still looked concerned. “You dropped out of contact for a bit. We were worried.”

She glares, jabbing him in the chest to ignore the way it makes something ache in her chest. “Doesn’t mean you had to drop everything, you idiot. You’re supposed to be on the other side of the station by now.”

He grunts and rubs his chest where she poked him. “Come on sweetheart, as if I wasn’t going to come running when you got hurt.”

She flushes and tucks her hands under her arms, looking awkward. “Yeah, well... thanks,” she mutters.

Geralt wraps one arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple. “You’re welcome. Now come on, I’ve got credits riding on this. Let’s hurry it up!”

She shoves him affectionately. “You asshole,” she says with a soft smile.

 

* * *

 

Even knowing that Lieca will be back soon, Theron can't stop pacing. Koth had given up a short while ago and gone in search of food, while his husband unsuccessfully continues to try to distract Theron. On any other day, he would enjoy trading stories with Raj but no, not today. He’s too wired, stretched too thin.

The far more successful distraction is sitting on the couch next to Raj, trouncing him at some puzzle game on his datapad, wide brown eyes sparkling with glee as she laughs, her laugh a more carefree version of her mother’s.

Flissa has hardly left his side since Lieca disappeared, seeming to draw some weird comfort from his presence or something, according to Ona’la. Looking after a child had at least forced him to look after himself a little, and he’s both proud and annoyed that Lieca’s daughter is almost as good as her mother in that regard.

Flissa had certainly brightened considerably after Cera woke up, complaining bitterly of a headache and ranting angrily about Valkorion while using phrases that Theron is pretty sure he never expected a Jedi to even _know_ , let alone use, but she otherwise seems hale. She had no real information on what had happened to Lieca, doing a fantastic impression of her sister as she told them all to just wait, but promising that Lieca was fine.

So many damn promises… but it helps that neither of the twins has ever made a promise to him that they couldn’t keep. Sure, Cera’s promise they’d get Lieca back took a bit longer than either of them had expected, but the point was that it happened.

He may be fretting about Lieca’s well-being, but he does feel a lot calmer after she promised him herself that she was alright. Being able to talk to her, to see her... it eases his soul in a way no words of assurance from anyone else ever could.

They hadn’t really told anyone else on the base that Lieca had wandered off... or been kidnapped, or whatever had actually happened. Answers would be nice, damnit. Theron and his pacing - the most obvious indicator something was wrong - had been mostly confined to the war room, and so only their inner circle really knew. Once Cera had woken up, she had occupied herself pretending to be both herself and her sister, rushing around the base so that there were reports of both sisters being seen, in order to prevent any rumours starting.

It’s very obvious that she’s had a lot of practice pretending to be her sister.

It still really weirds him out seeing Cera dressing as Lieca, though. He knows the differences between them, but when they are deliberately mimicking each other it’s a little disconcerting. Cera in particular is exceptionally good at copying Lieca’s softer mannerisms - though from Calli’s sarcastic reports from Zakuul that few weeks back, sometimes she isn’t particularly consistent or overly dedicated to maintaining the facade.

Flissa suddenly perks up from her spot on the couch, all but barreling off the couch in time with Raj’s startled shout as she skips to Theron’s side, her smile a mile wide. “They’re back!” she shouts cheerfully, mood improved a thousandfold in an instant.

He tries to smile at her, still a little too stressed to appreciate that news until he can actually see Lieca for himself and she frowns at him. “Theron,” she starts impatiently, but the door opens before she can continue and they both whip their heads around.

To Theron’s disappointment, it’s only Lana and Jezhara standing there, the Pureblood Sith looking a little disconcerted as Flissa immediately runs over to hug her legs. “You found Mama!” she says happily.

Lana looks vaguely amused at her wife’s orokeet-in-headlights look and kneels down to gently pry Flissa’s fingers away from her. “Yes of course, my dear. Did you doubt us?”

Lana then laughs as Flissa all but tackles her in a hug, squeezing her close when the little girl mumbles ‘ _thank you_ ’ into her hair.

Jezhara turns her wide glowing eyes to Theron’s obviously growing panic and clicks her tongue at him. “Calm yourself Shan, she is fine,” she says magnanimously, folding her arms. “Cera cornered her when we arrived, but they should be here momentarily.”

His temper is already near to fraying from the last few days, and he glares at her instantly. “Sorry, I’m just a little worried,” he snarls. “You only had your wife with you the entire time, I’m sure you understand.”

Jezhara doesn’t even roll her eyes, simply staring at him. “Have your snit elsewhere, Shan,” she says loftily. “After all this time with Jedi, I am tired.”

Lana snickers and Flissa turns guileless eyes to the Sith. “You still don’t like Jedi, Miss Jezhara?” she says, sounding sad.

Jezhara grimaces. “I tolerate individual Jedi perfectly well when the occasion calls for it,” she says, with the sort of stilted awkwardness that makes it sound like she’s forcing the admission out from between her sharp teeth.

Flissa raises her eyebrows at her, looking vaguely confused. “I like individual Sith too,” she says crossly. “Sometimes they are just mean, though.”

Lana hides a laugh with a cough, making a show of covering it with her hand, and Theron is about five seconds away from shaking her for answers when he hears the twins’ voices from down the hall. They are clearly arguing with each other, keeping their voices fast and low enough that he can’t hear the words until the door opens and his heart stops.

He can finally breathe again when Lieca steps through, smiling shyly at them all; he’s pretty sure it’s just his overactive imagination, but she looks so much more _vibrant_ than he remembers. “Hi,” she says nervously.

He’s not usually one for massive public displays of affection, but the only thing stopping him from running to her side and just about knocking her over with a hug is her daughter beating him to it. Flissa _shrieks_ and barrels into her mother instantly, and his instant flash of worry about Lieca’s balance - another thing they’ve all tried not to notice but accommodated for anyway, it’ll be fine, she’ll be fine, ‘ _it’s just stress_ ’ - is apparently all for nothing as she doesn’t even stumble, dropping to one knee with next to no effort and laughing as she hugs her daughter close. “Hello, my sweetheart,” she says, crooning into Flissa’s hair and stroking her back. “I’m so sorry I worried you.”

Flissa pulls back a little, beaming as though she’s already forgotten how upset she was a few days ago - though he knows it’s actually that she’s just as good at her mother at pushings things aside when she needs to. And at least this time it’s only been a few days and she knew she was still close by. “I watched everyone for you!” she declares happily, before gesturing her mother to move closer and whispering something in her ear.

Lieca’s expression does something strange, and she blushes and laughs - and Force if he doesn’t fall for her just a little more in that moment.

He’s not sure if something happened or if he’s just sitting here with rose-coloured glasses on again, but she looks so much happier and healthier than she had last time he saw her and kissed her goodbye. His heart _aches_ to hold her again as much as the concept actively terrifies him.

What if something bad has happened and she’s just hiding it again, what if she needs to leave again, what if he can’t take her disappearing on him _again_ , what if he’s just reading into everything too much, what if, what if, _what if_ -

He’s pulled from his terrifying thoughts by an insistent tugging on his hand, and looks down to see Flissa looking at him determinedly. “Theron, what are you doing?” she asks impatiently, and he absently notes that everyone else has cleared out of the room.

He looks up at Lieca, who is now standing much closer, eyes soft and sympathetic as though she knows the panicked route his thoughts have taken - and she probably does know, weird Jedi senses and all, let alone how well she knows _him_. “Honey, maybe he just needs a minute,” she says softly. “He was very worried too, and I surprised you all.”

Force, he loves her eyes. He swallows. “You- you can say that again,” he says hoarsely.

Lieca’s smile turns sweet and Flissa wrinkles her nose at them. “Grownups are weird,” she says crossly, and Lieca turns her ridiculously pretty blue eyes from his face to look down at her daughter.

Her tone is patient, but he recognises the tell of her twisting her fingers around and fiddling with her jewellery to realise she’s a little nervous. “Grownups have a few more things to worry about darling,” she says softly, before tweaking Flissa’s nose. “And you know it’s harder without the Force. Sometimes people need a bit of time to accept things you take for granted.”

She’s really back, she’s _here_ , she’s so much happier than the last time he saw her. His brain is trying to wrap itself around those facts, but all he can think is that she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And he’s still so desperately worried because she’s been so closed off recently and he’s trying and he knows she’s trying but it’s just so _terrifying_.

Flissa pulls a face, already looking to the door. “ _Alright_ ,” she says in aggravation. “Ugh! Mama, will you come see me training with Maire later? Nicola’s being _annoying_. She already got grounded today.”

Lieca nods, looking bemused. “Of course, Fliss,” she says soothingly. “Do you need to go now?”

Flissa huffs. “ _Someone_ needs to make sure the twins actually eat,” she says haughtily, with all the lofty arrogance an eight year old possesses, before her expression falls. “You will still be here later?”

Lieca’s expression matches her daughter’s and she drops to her knees again to hug her while he feels like the worst kind of intruder. “Of course, darling,” she says quickly, cupping her cheek for a moment. “I had some help, and things will be better now, I promise.”

Flissa’s lip trembles but she nods, and squeezes her mum before kissing her cheek. “Good,” she says quickly. Her voice is so small, and it’s all too painful a reminder that she’s so young, and endured so much. “You... you scared me.”

Lieca closes her eyes for a moment, looking pained. “I know, I’m sorry,” she says, hugging Flissa closer. “I promise we’ll talk about it, deal?”

Flissa nods, sniffing. “Deal. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

To Theron’s surprise, when Flissa moves back she immediately hugs his legs too. “Thanks Theron,” she says quietly, and he can’t shake his confusion at her words or her actions until she leaves the room and shuts the door behind her.

Lieca stands up again, clearly nervous and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I-”

But he’s so tired of talking, of everyone telling him everything’s fine, of watching Lieca push herself just to let him in, and before she can say another word or he gives himself time to second-guess himself, he steps forward to kiss her hard.

She makes a ridiculously cute startled noise against his mouth, but only takes a moment or so to kiss him back, and his panic subsides a little as she winds her arms around his neck. He presses closer immediately, just needing to be wrapped as tightly around her as possible, and deliberately ignores the cute way she blushes when his tongue touches hers, even now after everything that’s happened between them.

It’s a few long minutes before he can bring himself to calm down, helped significantly by her hands running soothing circles into the back of his neck and up into his hair, and he reluctantly releases her mouth to press his forehead to hers.

She’s still flushed, her eyes sparkling and her breathing not quite under control, and if he was anything other than stretched completely thin due to his concern, he might be a little more smug about that. As it is, he keeps his arms tight around her, fingers gently tracing patterns on the small of her back. This is what he really needs.

She keeps moving her hands over him, and Force it really helps him calm down, the physical reminders of her presence exceedingly helpful in calming his racing heart. He knows she was only gone a short time but kriffing _hells_ , everything about Valkorion in her head terrifies him, and the mere suggestion of him being involved… he shudders and presses closer still, shifting to bury his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder.

Her fingers keep lightly stroking his hair, and he feels her sigh before she starts talking. “Theron…” she says softly. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Please don’t disappear again.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and the way she tenses _hurts_. She can’t promise that, he knows she can’t, but he’s so tired of everything trying to get between them.

She tightens her grip on him, her voice determined rather than sad, and it helps. “I don’t want to disappear again. I want to stay, with you. I swear.”

He sighs, chuckling darkly. “I know, I know, you can’t promise that,” he says sadly, and she draws back a little to look him in the eyes, cupping his cheek in her hands.

“I’m sorry I keep hurting you, I really don’t mean to,” she says anxiously, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. “But I promise, things will be better now.”

He frowns. “You keep saying that. What’s changed that I don’t know about?”

Something in this situation might have changed, but Lieca’s response to nervous conversations sure hasn’t and she quickly buries her face in his chest, arms tight around his waist. It’s still adorable in a strange way that she finds it easier to talk sometimes when she’s hiding her face. At least he can always comfort her. “It’s a long story…” she starts hesitantly.

He hums, kissing her hair. “I’ve got time.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as they hit hyperspace, Calli reaches over to punch Geralt in the arm as hard as she can.

He immediately reaches up to rub his arm, expression wounded. “Ow! What was that for??”

She glares at him. “You know exactly what you tosser! How about a bit of warning next time?!”

He sighs, his voice lifting to the high-pitched tone he uses to imitate her. _“Why Geralt, I’m so glad you saved my ass in there, I really must find a way to show my appreciation!”_

Her lips twitch in amusement, but she knows what he’s doing, the bastard. “Don’t you try to weasel your way out of this one,” she says warningly. “You almost got us all blown up!”

He huffs at her as Risha enters the cockpit, fending her off with flailing arms. “Hey hey, appreciate that ‘ _almost_ ’ sweetheart! Risha, honey, help me.”

Risha rolled her eyes. “When you children are done,” she says, sniffing disdainfully.

Geralt is watching his wife attentively, so Calli takes the mature opportunity to punch him in the arm again. “Ow!”

Risha sighs. “Fine. I spoke to Odessen - the actual kids are fine, though Linda is certainly living up to her namesake,” she says with a quick glare at Calli. “And your sisters are very interested to know just what we were doing around a Star Fortress when our orders were to come straight home.”

Geralt waves his hand. “Nuh-uh, I checked the reports three times, there was absolutely no line about returning straight home. I am innocent!”

Both women stare at him and he huffs. “What? Don’t look at me like that.”

Risha sighs. “You were born guilty, darling,” she says dryly, turning her attention back to Calli. “Did the Exarch’s files have anything else on those GEMINI droids you’ve mentioned?”

Calli nods. “Yeah. While Geralt’s team was trying to beat up the Exarch, I found a few things in the computers before they, you know, _blew up because some numbskull didn’t_ -”

“ _I told you we were running out of time!_ ”

Risha cuts them both off. “And?” she asks impatiently.

Calli sighs. “Not too much obviously, the Exarchs seem pretty separate for a hierarchy totally dependent on his Lord High Majesty of Asshole. Just more confirmations of what we already knew - GEMINI droids control the Eternal Fleet, SCORPIO is looking for them, and from what Havoc found, the only way into the actual network is through the droids or the Eternal Throne itself. I’m going to say getting the droids is easier.”

Geralt’s expression is sly. “I don’t know, I think I know _someone_ who could get closer to the Thron- _ow_!”

Calli continues talking as though Geralt hadn’t spoken, having thrown her broken radiation shield at his head. “And the data I found on the security around the few GEMINI droids _not_ in command of the fleets still leaves that one underneath the factories on Darvannis as our best bet. It has the lowest security all around, but to have a chance in Corellia’s seven hells of getting to it, we’re going to need a pretty big distraction so it doesn’t panic and alert the Fleet.”

Risha looks grim. “Which means that distraction also needs to be clearly _not_ the Alliance, as Arcann’s certainly on high alert about any of our movements.”

Calli sighs, shifting her boots onto the console and ignoring Geralt’s hiss of reprimand. “So. Who happens to know an unaffiliated-with-the-Alliance-army who will listen to us and not run off with the goods themselves?”

Geralt beams. “Why, of course I do!” he says brightly, shifting to activate the cockpit’s holocommunications console.

“Dearest, she said someone who _won’t_ just steal it all themselves-”

Geralt ignores her. “Akaavi! Baby! It’s been too long!”

Both Calli and Risha facepalm as the image of the significantly less-impressed Mandalorian flickers into view, lips pursed and clearly unamused. “ _Risha. Callistra. You_ ,” she greets in turn.

“Aw, come on Akaavi, you’re not still mad about that whole little thing, are you?”

“ _What do you want?_ ”

Calli sighs - the voice is so cold it’d make a Csillan glacier look downright tropical in comparison. She’s actually impressed Akaavi answered in the first place. “Geralt, I really don’t think she’s going to listen to you-”

“Hush you! It’s just a tiny favour, babe!”

“-okay, it’s your funeral,” she says, leaning back in the chair and washing her hands of the whole mess.

“ _What makes you think I would do any sort of ‘favour’ for you, anyway? A Mandalorian has no dealings with one without honour._ ”

“Glory and riches?” he answers hopefully.

“ _... I’m going to hang up now_.”

“No babe wait, I can change!”

The transmission cuts out without another word.

Risha applauds sarcastically. “Well done, Geralt. Any other bright ideas?”

He rubs his chin, looking hurt. “I thought she’d at least hear me out,” he says with a pout.

Calli rolls her eyes. “Must be your charming personality, hun.”

Risha clucks her tongue. “He might be on the right track with the Mandalorians, though… although really, darling, you should leave that negotiating to someone else. You don’t really… _gel_ … with Mandalorians.”

Geralt is ignoring them both, apparently still sulking. Calli sighs. “I’ll ask the team when we get back home and they finish yelling at me,” she says crossly. “I think I remember seeing something about Clan Cadera in Theron’s files.”

Risha nods. “Good. Did you want to practice your lines about why you two did this incredibly reckless thing now, or later, or just ‘ _wing it_ ’?”

Calli and Geralt both answer together, Geralt smug, Calli defiant. “Wing it!”

Risha sighs.

 

* * *

 

Vaylin hums and bounces on the balls of her feet, unable to completely sit still while her brother inspects the troops.

She’s been training with this team for weeks now, and the survivors seem capable of joining their elite cadre of Knights. She’s rather pleased with their progress - not because she cares about them, don’t be ridiculous, but because it’s tangible proof of something she’s doing in the palace that’s just her, that’s helping their Empire.

Just because Arcann has been moping for weeks about the Alliance and the Outlander and that stupid _girl_ doesn’t mean she needs to slack off too. At least one of them is competent.

This will show them, show them all what they left behind. Show Mother and Thexan and Father that they chose the weaker side, the _lesser_ people.

Well. She’s still undecided about Thexan. If he’s real, or a fake, or a pretender. Arcann says he’s fake, because he can’t ‘ _feel_ ’ him. That stupid twin bond that even now, years after they destroyed each other, makes her feel an unwelcome twinge of jealousy. At least they always had each other. She had no-one.

Mother pretended to care for a time. That ended too. Just like everything else.

Thexan visited her on Nat- while she was away. He was a good brother. Bought her presents from all the worlds they conquered. Always chattering away about something when he visited, even though it clearly made him uncomfortable, filling the silence with words as if he’s afraid of it.

She missed him.

The man who sends her letters, whoever he is - he sounds like Thexan. He talks like Thexan. He knows things about her only Thexan knows.

But he’s too _happy_ to be Thexan. They don't get to be happy, they’ve always known that. But he smiles and laughs about his family and their lives and wishes her well and she just... it _hurts_.

Why could he only be happy without _them_? Why did he have to leave and stay away and not come home?

She thinks she hates his wife. It's _her_ fault he won't come home. How can they tell if he's real if he won't come home?

She ignores the flash of jealousy, trying to concentrate on the scene before her. She really wants to eat the candy in her pocket but that would be unprofessional.

Arcann eventually dismisses the Knights with a wave of his hand and Vaylin almost skips over to him, unable to keep still. “Well brother, what do you think?”

He sits on the throne with a sigh, and to her surprise today he doesn't flinch like he normally does. It's always such a tiny movement, but she always notices. Arcann looks tired and she frowns. “They will do,” he says carefully, leaning forward with his hands resting between his knees.

Her frown deepens. He never looks this relaxed here. “What's going on with you?” she asks with a growl.

The one eye she can see blinks rapidly in surprise, and she barely resists the urge to throw something. “You’re being weird again,” she mutters.

He looks at her and she doesn't miss how his eye seems paler than normal. “Do you still feel Father?” he asks finally.

She snarls. “This is his _grand palace_ Arcann, of course he's everywhere,” she snaps, absolutely not shuddering, because she is far stronger than he will ever be and she has the scars to prove it.

The inside of her wrist itches.

Arcann seems annoyed. “No, I mean... recently.”

She glares at him. “You mean, when I’m sleeping? Or do I routinely look around and see him _looming_ over the chairs and tables and whispering about how we’ll never be free and-”

“-Vaylin!”

She catches the lightsaber he throws at her instinctively, staring at it blankly for a moment before she realises she was fiddling with her wrists again.

The twins were always good at trying to keep her distracted.

She starts running her fingers over the gold inlaid in the hilt, twirling it around in her hands restlessly to give her something to fidget with, and Arcann relaxes again. “Thank you,” she says shortly. “But no, he’s still here.”

Arcann shifts on the throne. “I... feel he’s not here as much as he used to be,” he says carefully. “More memories than flashes.”

“What makes you so sure?” she asks, hating how small her voice is.

He doesn’t answer except to pull out his datapad, which starts playing a message, and her eyebrows lift to recognise the voice of the Outlander, Lieca Amell.

“ _Hello Arcann. Thank you for not immediately deleting this message, although I would not blame you in the slightest. It feels... strange to be talking to you this way, but after how upset I made you last time, it’s probably for the best. I’m still sorry for how badly it went. I really did make the situation worse, didn’t I? It wasn’t very kind of me at all._

_“I... I wanted to talk to you about something unpleasant, if I may. It is important though. The reason we even know each other in the first place - the shade that called himself your Emperor. My allies have had some success lately with regards to his movements and... he is quiet in my mind for the first time in years._

_“I’m sure that I do not need to tell you what a relief that is. You and your family survived him far longer than I, and are far stronger for it. But I only hope that he has not simply transferred to you in the time being. It was not my intention to cause further pain to your family in trying to spare mine._

_“We are still trying to find a way to remove him permanently. I do not ask this for myself, but for you. I suspect part of him is still in the palace itself - he always seemed stronger there, in the visions he gave to torment me over my years in carbonite. Cruelly spying as though to try to unsettle you too - I believe Vaylin even noticed us once, though my memory of that time is... incomplete.”_

A sigh. “ _If you do notice his presence in the coming days or even weeks, please make note of where you notice him. It may help you in removing any trace of him from the palace. You are both more than strong enough to defeat him, but it will help significantly to know what exactly it is that you are fighting. And... I hope the wound has healed enough now that you no longer notice it. I apologise for not being more in control of my emotions during the healing process. One hopes that with my own health and the forced quietness of the former Emperor that you will not be troubled that same way any longer._

 _“Oh, and while I’m here talking, and in case you are still listening,”_ she says, before her tone turns sharp, and Vaylin almost jumps at the change. “ _There’s been so many reports... Malforia was only the first you bothered to notice. Despite my sympathy for your situation, you cannot allow such monstrous acts from the Exarchs to continue in your name. Your silence across their history is your approval and it is no longer tolerated. You have had five years to come to terms with your position and your freedom and this is not the way to go about it. I saw the reports from the worlds you bombed, looking for me, and I just...”_

There is a long pause and neither sibling breathes before she continues, sounding sad. _“How many more millions have to die before you stop letting your father’s ghost control your life? You are better than this Arcann! You are stronger and more capable than he is, but you have to stop lashing out. This won’t fix anything, you know that right?_

_“... I realise you will have definitely destroyed this message now. I only hope you listened to some of what I have to say, before it’s too late to make the changes needed.”_

Vaylin stares at him. “The Outlander is sending you messages now?” she asks incredulously, the first thought to come to mind. “Why does she care about the old Exarch of Balmorra?”

Arcann looks annoyed. “I did not ask her to message me!” he snaps. “I was trying to see what you thought about it.”

Vaylin shrugs. “She seems nice, you know, for our mortal enemy. Bit strange though. Isn’t it weird how Father’s puppet cares more than Father does?” she says before she snorts. “Bit rich of her to try to tell you what to do though. She’s not Emperor, she’s just the figurehead for some stupid little resistance.”

Arcann’s expression is carefully blank when he looks at her and she squashes the desire to throw his lightsaber at his stupid face, her fingers moving over the hilt more rapidly now. “Mother probably told her to say that, she still thinks she can manipulate us,” she says, hating how small her voice is. “You won’t listen to her, will you? We don’t need her, we’ve got the Eternal Empire. What does she have?”

Arcann sighs, slowly standing up. “A small collection of friends and family. Nothing else.”

Vaylin sniffs, fingers twisting on the lightsaber. “Exactly. Nothing. Who needs that?”

Arcann steps closer and she represses the urge to flee until he reaches out to gently take back his lightsaber. “Not us,” he says quietly.

She withdraws as he does. “I want to do something,” she announces. No time to think, just _go_.

Arcann shifts his hands behind his back, visibly throwing off _her_ message. “Very well,” he says stiffly. “The slavers in the Old Town... we have a location for their main warehouse. I was going to send a squadron of Knights, but…” He pauses, seeming to smile. “I think the High Justice would be far more successful.”

That sounds like a perfect distraction, and she grins wide. “You do get me the best presents sometimes, brother.”

They can worry about the Outlander later, for now it’s just them and Zakuul. Just the way it’s supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the first time I did the Star Fortresses in heroic mode with Lieca she totally died and ended up in the jail and I was terrified I had completely broken everything haha. I think it happened to Calli once or twice too? Either way it made me laugh a bit so sorry Calli, you got drafted!
> 
> (and if you're wondering, Geralt's final line to Akaavi is most certainly in relation to a certain Dragon Age comic ;P)


	20. Darvannis

Calli and her team returned to Odessen with relatively little fuss a few days later, still hyped up on adrenaline from the success of their work on the Star Fortress. Well, okay, _fine_ \- maybe her little sojourn in the station’s brig had been less than pleasant, and not exactly the definition of success. And okay, yes, the whole nearly-dying-from-radiation because _someone_ almost didn’t give her enough warning thing was even less her definition of triumphant. But they had killed one of the Exarchs, destroyed a Star Fortress, and Alderaan would be singing their praises for months.

Well, it was Alderaan, so they would probably forget fairly quickly, caught up in their own squabbles that somehow managed to make the great wars of the galaxy seem small and petty in comparison. It may be her home planet, but it never really _felt_ like home.

She’s mostly suspicious about how little yelling Cera actually did when they reported in. It was almost like she had been distracted by something - she didn’t even holocall, just sent through a quick text message, which is rather blunt even by her standards.

It makes her suspect the storm is just brewing when they land, and she scowls in anticipation as she stalks to the ship’s exit. If Cera thinks she’s just gonna stand there are duck her head all bashful and accept being yelled at without making a peep, ho boy, has she got another thing coming.

The seals hiss and pop on the airlock, and the door has barely slid open before Geralt and Risha are immediately tackled by their two children; she laughs at the little tornadoes that have stormed up the ramp and lunged for them, slithering past the anarchy and hoisting her bag onto her shoulder as she takes the ramp down to the floor of the Alliance’s rudimentary spaceport. To her immense surprise, it’s not just the regular ground crew waiting to run the post flight diagnostics and unload any cargo - Thexan and his family are waiting for them as well. From the bag of toys draped over Thexan’s shoulder and the exhausted look on both parents’ faces, it seems like the Tiralls had been the designated babysitters of the Drayen kids these last few days, which is even more surprisingly. Apparently Anya and Calinda had finally settled a little while they had been away.

What’s perhaps not as surprising as the two tiny divas agreeing to a ceasefire, but still makes her belly flip flop with nerves, is the genuine relief on Thexan’s face when he sees her. The tiny, awkward smile on his face is enough to make her pause as she walks over to greet them.

Ona’la’s smile is much brighter, balancing Jaelin on her hip. “Calli! It’s so wonderful to see you back safe,” she says gently.

As though sensing Calli’s confusion, her smile turns warmer. “Calinda wanted desperately to see her parents and Anya could not bear to be parted from her playmate,” she continues, explaining their presence before her tone turns conspiratorial. “I do wonder how long it will take the situation to revert again.”

Calli looks over to the little twi’lek, noting how she already pouts in annoyance at the docking ramp, as if staring will make her playmate return. “I don’t think you’ll have to wait long,” she responds dryly.

Thexan sighs wearily, but nods in agreement at her when she chuckles. “I am glad to see that you have returned safely,” he says, in that stiffly formal tone of his, and she’s so startled that she almost drops the dataspike she is fiddling with.

“Oh, um, thank you,” she says awkwardly.

The moment is broken by flash of colour and movement out the corner of her eye, and the blur resolves into the shape of Cera crashing into the room, closely pursued by her daughters. She skids to a halt in front of Calli, who stares at her bemusedly, before throwing her arms around her in a fierce hug.

“Calli!”

Calli almost staggers back from the weight of it, and Cera’s grip tightens for a moment before she steps back, holding her face in her hands. “Calli! Oh, I’m so glad to see that you're alright,” she says warmly, her twins already bouncing up and down beside her with dual chants of “ _Aunty Calli, Aunty Calli_!”

Calli stares at her, even as the sentiment warms her heart. “Um, hi Cera. I, uh, thought you'd be mad.”

Cera’s eyes glint dangerously. “Oh, don't you worry, I am _furious_ ,” she says in an almost sing-song voice, suddenly glaring daggers over to shoulder, mostly likely at Geralt behind her. Cera then sighs. “But! I am also desperately glad to see you, and to see that you're well,” she continues softly. “And! So _amazingly_ proud, babe.”

 _Oh_.

Calli swallows down the lump that suddenly appears in her throat, and Cera’s expression softens further, as if aware of the peculiar surge of vulnerability her words had roused in her. She opens her mouth as if to thank her, but her voice just squeaks embarrassingly, and before she can try again, she feels a tug on her belt loops. “ _Aunty_!”

Desperately grateful for the interruption, she looks down to see Rianna looking up at her determinedly, all but hanging off of her belt like it’s a swing rope. Nicola’s eyes are bright with scarcely contained glee as she hangs back, hopping from foot to foot impatiently. Calli chuckles, ignoring the way her voice wobbles, and kneels down to the girls’ eye levels, letting out an undignified squawk of laughter as she is immediately crash tackled to the floor.

Thexan looks amused at the sight and Ona’la smiles, and it seems that Anya is torn between leaping into the fray as well or continuing to scowl after Calinda. With the Drayen children safely delivered back to their parents, Thexan and Ona’la apparently decided to minimise the chaos and gently guide Anya from the room, their promises of story books and play time echoing back up the hallway.

Cera looks rather proud of her girls, and stoops down to squeeze her shoulder. “Girls, when you're done, can you take Aunty Calli to the war room? We have a lot to talk about.”

“Yes Mum!”

Calli frowns from beneath the pile of children, and Cera sighs. “A lot has happened while you were gone,” she says quietly, expression serious.

Well, that would account for Cera’s weird mood. She swallows down the burst of nerves. “What about…?”

Cera shakes her head quickly, as if warning her not to bring it up in front of the kids. “She’s fine now.” Her expression softens, her eyes pleading as if with apology. “We’ll talk soon? I dare not get between you and your fan club,” she observes dryly.

As if to prove her point, Nicola slides into her lap, Rianna hanging over her shoulders. “Calli! Daddy says we might get a gizka!”

Cera checks to ensure the twins aren’t watching and mimes drawing a finger across her throat; Calli hides her giggles in Nicola’s hair. “Did he now?” she says brightly, fighting the temptation to encourage this endeavour. “Did you check he didn’t mean a chocolate one?”

Nicola wrinkles her nose as she looks up at her. “I’d rather have a chocolate one. Ew.”

Rianna gasps, sounding incredibly offended as she tries to slither further over Calli’s shoulder, almost overbalancing all of them. “Don't say that! You like gross varactyls!”

“Um, Rianna, excuse me, but they have feathers? And that’s way better than a blind frog, don’t you know?”

Calli waves her hands quickly to claim their attention back. “Alright, my loves! What about akk dogs?”

Over the top of Nicola’s hair, she can see Cera hiding her grin behind a hand as the twins both gasp, clearly awed. Rianna’s eyes are as big around as dinner plates. “Erika’s mummy has a _rainbow_ one,” she says in wonder.

Nicola’s expression turns sly. “Her daddy says he hates it, but he takes it for the most walks.”

“Cause its _cuuuuute_.”

“I know!”

“Muuuuum, can we get an akk dog?”

“ _Please please please_!”

Calli grins at her sister who stares at her twins with a blank expression for a moment; Calli is almost certain she’s debating the pros and cons of just feeding them to said pet, when instead she lifts one hand to her earpiece. “HK, I told you not to take Z0-0M into Oggurobb’s training rooms, stop complaining,” she says at last, clearly choosing work over answering.

“Muuuuuuuum!”

Clearly irritated, Cera sighs distractedly, waving them off. “Ask your father.”

The girls screech in delight and immediately scramble over to their mother, Nicola kissing Calli’s cheek on the way. Rianna hugs Cera’s legs before sprinting to the door with her twin.

At Calli’s raised eyebrow, Cera grins, eyes twinkling as she helps her back to her feet. “If he says yes then it's his fault,” she says brightly, apparently pretending she can’t hear poor Thexan explaining to Anya from the hallway that ‘ _no, darling, a shadow skelk is not the same thing as an akk dog, and no, you cannot have either of them_ ’.

Cera then gestures to Risha across the floor of the spaceport, who nods back and starts prying her own kids away from their father, before looking back to Calli. “Now then, can you head to the war room to go talk to Lieca and Theron? I have to have a _talk_ with someone here,” she says, tone suddenly menacing as she glares at Geralt.

He yelps when he notices it, and Calli shares a look with her sister at the pitifully faked ‘ _Risha help me!_ ’. But she's mostly just glad she’s not the one in trouble... yet.

She takes the first opportunity to flee behind Risha and their kids, Calinda demanding a cuddle as they leave behind the echoes of Cera’s shouting throughout the hangar.

They part ways so that the Drayen clan can head to the mess hall, and Calli heads for the war room, absently greeting people along the way as she practices what she’s going to say to Lieca. Whose disappointed face she can already picture, _damnit_. Ugh, she doesn’t know what’s worse, Lieca’s sad, doe-eyed disappointment, or Cera’s thin-lipped anger.

And with that in mind, mentally preparing herself for the bombardment of guilt that’s going to come from Lieca’s stupid sad eyes, she isn't exactly prepared to walk in on her sister and her boyfriend having a _moment_ instead. _Ugh_. When she enters the war room the two of them are alone, Theron standing behind Lieca at the workbench with his hands on her hips and his mouth at her neck; he murmurs to her in a tone thankfully too low to hear, and Lieca giggles girlishly.

Double ugh.

She pulls a face immediately, but the lovebirds apparently don't notice her. The temptation to turn tail and slink out again is high, but she doesn’t fancy having to explain herself to Cera when she’s dragged back hours later. Lieca turns in Theron’s arms to loop her hands behind his neck, clearly abandoning the lightsaber she’d been working on before he drew her interest.

Nothing else for it; she clears her throat loudly, and Lieca just about jumps a mile. “Calli!”

She grins smugly at Theron as Lieca immediately breaks away from him, despite his sound of protest, and makes a beeline for her. The physical affection from her sisters might make her feel a bit weird sometimes, but she will _always_ relish in Theron’s discomfort.

And then Lieca just about knocks her flat in a ferocious hug, startling her too much to even reciprocate before she steps back and cups her face just as Cera had. “Darling! Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe!”

She wonders if it’s usual practice for sisters to completely forgive the inaction that led to one of them all but dying or if that's just the Jedi-ness shining through. She also wonders how long Lieca has been able to move that fast, considering she was still all but bed-ridden when she was last here on Odessen.

“Hi Lieca,” she says quietly, moving one hand up around Lieca’s on her face.

Lieca’s expression immediately shifts to one of concern. “Oh Calli, your neck! Here, please, let me?”

She blinks in surprise, too startled to speak, and Lieca’s expression visibly drops before she sighs. “Sure, go ahead,” she answers. Her sister brightens immediately, moving one hand to her neck where the bruises from the Star Fortress’ electric collar are still fading.

Lieca closes her eyes for a moment and concentrates, and she actually feels a rush of cool air against her skin as the Force healing takes, wincing instinctively. It seems to take less time than it usually does though, and Lieca is frowning at her neck when she opens her eyes again.

But whatever thought is troubling her is quickly brushed aside. “How are you?” she asks earnestly.

Calli stares at her. “Um Liss, don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful, but... last time I was here you could barely move. What’s going on?”

Lieca winces. “It’s a long story, Cal,” she says softly. “The short version? Valkorion tried to possess me - and Master Satele and Darth Marr saved me and helped me seal him for awhile. Without his influence... I feel so much stronger again.”

Her jaw drops, and she tries to cover by looking over Lieca’s shoulder at a still-annoyed-looking Theron. “Wait, your mum’s here?”

She’s pretty certain his eyebrow twitches. “Yes, the Grandmaster is here,” he says through somewhat gritted teeth, and Lieca’s expression falls yet again.

“Theron…”

Calli huffs, blowing a bit of hair out of her face. “Well, that’s gotta be a bit fun,” she says, looking at her sister curiously. “Sure your old boss is really okay with you banging her son like a screen door in a hurricane?”

Lieca’s face flushes bright red, and Theron lets out a choking noise in the background. “Master Satele knew that we were involved before I was frozen,” she says delicately. “As for ‘ _banging_ ’-”.

Theron cuts her off, still glaring at Calli, his own face flushed. “Regardless, the _Grandmaster_ doesn’t really have much of a say in my life,” he says stiffly, and the emphasis he puts on Satele’s title sure does make it fairly clear how little he’s willing to take her opinion into consideration. “And I’m sure you know all about-”

“Okay!” Lieca cuts across him in turn, quickly moving back over to his side to put one hand on his chest. “Please, you two, just _try_ to get along for five minutes? For me. Please.”

Calli rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him over her shoulder. Theron is still glaring but moves his hand over Lieca’s, clearly softening at her beseeching look. Ugh, if he folds, that makes her the childish one. She can’t have Theron being the more sensible, mature one than her.

She folds her arms and Lieca’s smile turns apologetic. “I’m sorry that things have been so out of control lately. But I promise it’s better now,” she says softly, before her eyes narrow. “But what were you _thinking_ , taking out the Star Fortress by yourselves? You could have been killed!”

Ah. There’s the shouting. Strangely enough, she’d been expecting this level of anger from Cera, not Lieca, and Calli’s walls slam into place almost instantly. Behind Lieca, Theron moves forward, putting his free hand on her shoulder almost pleadingly. “Liss…”

Lieca makes a frustrated noise and shakes him off. “I just... _Calli_. We all know you are amazingly competent and intelligent and strong. But the risk you took by going there...”

Fucking stars, she feels about two inches tall, and her eyes are burning with what is definitely not tears.

“What if something had happened to you? Something worse than just bruises? We were so worried once we found out.”

Calli sniffs, and she can’t quite make eye contact with her sister, but she raises her chin defiantly all the same. “Yeah, you all sure sounded super worried when Cera bothered to answer our messages,” she snaps, not really aware until now that that was an issue. “Sorry you had to take time out of your busy schedules. You’re _welcome_ , by the way.”

Her sister flinches, and Theron speaks up, his hand on Lieca’s hip now. “We were worried enough here as it was,” he says harshly. “Cera was unconscious and Lieca was missing, so if anything, we probably could have used the help back here!"

“And then we found out you were in trouble too-” Lieca tried to say, but Calli’s vulnerabilities were already kicking in to high gear.

“Oh, so you’re basically saying I’m just making everything worse, are you?”

Theron clearly starts to roll his eyes and stops himself, shaking his head as he glances away to try and hide his frustration, and Lieca breaks away from him to step back towards her. “Calli, that’s not what we’re saying at all! We were worried because we want you to be safe, not just because of anything else happening here. Valkorion would have tried to hurt me regardless of whatever else was happening, that’s not your fault-”

“Sure, of course. It’s not like I’m the one who made a mess of everything and got you so injured in the first place that you were vulnerable to him.”

The moment hangs awkwardly between them, and Calli lifts her hand to her mouth as though to stuff the words back in. Theron’s expression is tight and Lieca looks horrified. “Calli! That’s not your fault at all! If I hadn’t-”

She steps back out of reach, arms tight around herself, and Lieca’s expression drops instantly; she carefully moves to stand in front of her, as if afraid she’ll flee if her movements are too sudden, and slowly reaches out to place her hands over hers. “Calli... sweetheart please, believe me. It wasn’t your fault what happened. And I’m fine now - I feel better now than I have since even before I was frozen.”

Theron frowns at her from over her shoulder, and she winces as though she can feel it burning into the back of her head. “Yes, alright, fine, I _could_ use a little more bedrest sometimes. But I still feel far healthier than before. The wound has almost completely healed. I promise.”

Calli looks down miserably, and Lieca’s grip on her hands tightens. “It wasn’t your fault Calli, I swear,” she says determinedly. “No matter what you think happened up there, it was _not_  your fault.”

Reluctantly, if only to get her sister to give her space again, she slowly unfolds her arms and Lieca’s smile turns sweet again. “It was mine and Arcann’s choices up there, not yours,” she continues softly, rubbing her arms. “You were so brave and strong, I could not have asked you to do more.”

She swallows and waits for Lieca to step back before she tries to speak again. “Um, so, what did you guys want to talk to me about?” she deflects quickly, hoping her tears stay in her damn eyes where they belong. Lieca can’t just expect it all to just go away because she says so, all the guilt and the shame and the humiliation; she nearly _died_ because Calli hadn’t acted and it was just... too much. Acting like there was nothing to even forgive... she’s not sure she deserves that.

She knows she sure as hell doesn’t forgive herself.

She realises the door has opened behind her when a new voice enters the conversation. “Perhaps they called you here to discuss your sister’s continued disregard for her own health.”

She turns around to see a rather tall twi’lek woman standing behind her, hands on her hips and a severe frown on her face. Her soft pink visage and heavily made-up face could almost fool people into thinking her delicate, were it not for her sheer size combined with her naturally imposing presence. “Dia!”

The twi’lek smiles briefly, a barely there twitch of her lips, and Calli is impressed to get even that much of a reaction. “Callistra,” she says politely, purple eyes narrowing at Lieca. She has the same sort of brittle formality to her speech that Thexan does. “I know you think that you are fine, but you are still supposed to be confined to the medical bay until I can run some more tests.”

Theron’s head snaps up at that and Lieca winces, obviously caught out in having snuck away from her medics. “Dia’ayla, I swear that I feel much better today,” she said in a placating tone. “You and your team have only been here such a short while, surely you have other people to see rather than just worry about me?”

Dia’ayla doesn’t even blink, and Lieca sighs. “Yes Dia’ayla, I’ll head back there now,” she says meekly, turning to kiss Theron’s cheek.

Dia’ayla nods. “Excellent,” she says shortly.

Lieca moves over to collect her discarded lightsaber while Theron raises his eyebrow at the twi’lek. “I can’t believe she’s actually listening to someone,” he says incredulously, “you’ve got to tell me how you do that.”

Calli bites her lip to stop herself from bursting out laughing, delighted at how dense Theron is when it comes to reading people. Dia’ayla doesn’t even move and Theron’s smile slowly wilts before he visibly swallows. “Okay, er, you’ve really got that Sith stare down don’t you?” he says awkwardly.

She folds her arms, somehow seeming even taller for a moment. “I am not a Sith,” she says shortly. “You should remember that, Shan.”

He scowls, shuffling his feet. “You can make lightning with your brain? You’re a Sith.”

Lieca catches his arm to stop him from sticking his foot in his mouth further, smiling sweetly at him before looking back to Dia’ayla. “Dia’ayla, the healers have looked over me as well, it is not just my own skills-”

Dia sniffs disdainfully. “The Force is no substitute for actual medical training, as you should know.”

Calli rolls her eyes. “Weren’t _you_ using the Force before the Sith found you, _Doctor_?” she asks with falsetto sympathy. She’d heard all the stories from Nikos, the tales of the intimidating doctor from Nar Shaddaa who was unceremoniously dragged off to join the Sith.

If looks could kill, Calli would be a smoking crater on the ground. Dia finally sighs irritably, still seeming about ten feet tall. “The Force can be... _helpful_ when it wants to be,” she admits through gritted teeth, as if it’s painful for her even to admit that much. “But I did not appreciate having my studies interrupted by those idiots from the Academy. Their Force lessons were tiresome. I did not need their methods to do my work, I was already superior to their healers.”

Lieca smiles brightly. “Which is why we are so grateful for any help that you may offer to us, aren’t we?” she says politely, only a hint of malice in her words towards her sister and her boyfriend.

Calli frowns, still trying to pretend that Dia’s imposing stare is not scaring her at all. The woman might be the only person in living memory to treat being dragged off to the Sith Academy as an inconvenience (and survive the experience), but there’s no denying she sure as hell can act like a Sith when she wants. Got that whole murder stare down to an art. Probably turned her nose up at the Dark Council, too. And to be fair, Calli totally gets the reasoning behind the attitude, and she can’t say she blames her for it - if she’d been halfway through a tenure as a critically acclaimed student doctor and had suddenly been all but kidnapped by Imperials wanting to adhere to their damned Emperor’s stupid edicts, she’d be mad as hell too.

To the surprise of absolutely no one who knew her, Dia had spent the bare minimum time required at the Sith Academy on Korriban before packing her bags and returning to Nar Shaddaa. According to the stories, she’d walked straight back into the clinic run by her aunt’s wife, sat down with a patient, and continued working as if she hadn’t mysteriously vanished for two years. The first time Calli had met her in said clinic, some bricks-for-brains had tried to muscle his way into the front of the queue in an establishment known for it’s zero tolerance for violence policy. It’s still a memory Calli prefers not to dwell on, remembering how brutally Dia had ejected the troublemaker from the premises, and she wasn’t even the one in trouble that time. She can’t imagine Dia’s brazenness when she left the Sith… or how she was even allowed to.

Actually, if Dia is here instead of at her aunt’s wife’s clinic on Nar Shaddaa… “Hey, is Jahlia here too?”

Dia frowns. “Her Almighty Lord Imperius was sidetracked by her Imperial lackey, the one who likes digging in the dirt,” she says in mild disgust. “I believe they’re discussing some sort of artifact he discovered in his work for the Alliance. Now if you’ll excuse me…?”

The group stares at her blankly and she sighs in frustration. “Master Amell, are you coming back for your examinations, or am I going to drag you?”

Theron snorts. “I’d pay to see that,” he says, before realising all three women in the room are staring at him. He coughs awkwardly, quickly looking away. “So, hey! About that weather…”

“Subtle, Shan,” Dia says flatly.

Lieca rolls her eyes with significantly more affection than Calli does, smiling fondly at Theron. “No matter. When you two are done being dramatic, can you please talk to Cera and Lana about what the next step is for the Alliance? Cera’ll fill you in on what she’s pounded out of Geralt’s head in a moment-”

“-I’m already here,” Cera declares dramatically, grinning at her sisters and ignoring Dia’s disapproving sigh. “And yes, Abelli is mostly in one piece - yes, he’s crying victim, and yes I asked Holiday to block SCORPIO from monitoring this room so we’ve got five minutes.” She rubs her hands together conspiratorially. “So! Who wants to come hunt down a GEMINI droid with me?”

 

* * *

 

 

Arcann clenches his fist on the arm of the throne, desperately repressing the urge to lash out and scream. The latest reports regarding the actions of the Alliance have done nothing but show how much they are ridiculing him and his rule, and every report is more damning than the last.

The Gilded Star had reluctantly reported in to advise that the majority of the cargo onboard the ship had been stolen, and the banking servers likely compromised. A few short checks by his clerks into his accounts confirmed their suspicions, and the urge to order the entire staff of the ship killed for their incompetence was rising by the second.

But then he had been distracted by news of the Star Fortress over Alderaan, the station destroyed and Exarch Zar Draya killed. Well, due to the station’s complete destruction, her death has not been technically confirmed. But if she had somehow escaped the station and had not reported in, the woman was as good as dead anyway.

Even if she had survived, her failure had ensured her own death sentence.

He had been scouring the reports from both disasters to see if he could confirm the participation of the Alliance in either, but had had no luck so far. Obviously, he cannot know every member of the Alliance by sight, but it seems a logical explanation for the Alliance to be involved in something so blatantly against Zakuul.

He has already dominated the Republic and the Imperial Empire, they would not have the nerve to turn against him of their own accord. It _must_ have been the Alliance - as troubling as it is to conclude that they have enough resources to so directly threaten him.

He grudgingly admits that they must have some considerable skill to undertake such large operations all but unnoticed, leaving no hint of their passing other than the end result. The rescue of Master Amell was significantly smaller in scale (as long as he doesn’t dwell on the end result). Destroying his previously-thought-impenetrable Star Fortresses and sacking the Gilded Star is beyond comprehension from what information he currently had. The Star Fortress job overall seems clumsier though, as if it had been less thought out and not as detailed a plan.

Thus he has been focusing his efforts into discovering how in Izax’s name they had been able to destroy one of his space stations. Though really, he could not have expected anyone to forcibly destroy the station via destabilizing the sun reactors - that was all but suicide. But there was only one Gilded Star - it does not matter so much as to how they breached those defences as that method cannot be repeated, the damage done. The Star Fortresses were of much larger concern.

It appears to have predominantly been a stealth operation, as few alerts had been triggered and saved in the network. Even accounting for the station's destruction and the expected loss of data that would entail, the Skytroopers should have seen more than he has available. Unless the signal was blocked? Hmm.

He moves distractedly to the next datapad, the curious mystery of it all delaying his anger for a time.

His intelligence teams have noticed an increase in Mandalorian activity over the last week, particularly in the Calaron sector. But it wouldn’t be the first time that Mandalorians have taken up arms against Zakuul in some mindless crusade, so he’s not particularly concerned.

He frowns, sifting through the reports and waiting for some grand revelation to leap out at him. There is a Skytrooper factory on Darvannis, which seems to be the planet that the Mandalorians have chosen as their target, but he’s still not overly worried. Even if they manage to destroy the factory, he does have others. Its loss would barely dent the production levels required to meet the current demand of his armies.

Although, with the thefts of the tribute wealth from the Gilded Star… perhaps it would be more economically viable to try to stop the destruction somehow. The Mandalorians have constantly been described as fierce warriors, but Arcann has nothing positive to say about them after the repeated failed campaigns they have launched against his throne over the years. Mindless warriors - at absolute best, all they could do was destroy the factory. They cannot have any other goal here.

The factory’s loss would be regrettable - but as seen from the scenarios suggested by his war council, the cost to stop the Mandalorians from achieving any potential goal outright would be higher than Zakuul is willing to pay. The cost-benefit ratio for engaging in a ground conflict does not favour engaging while their coffers are sitting depleted.

Of course, the Fleet could stop them regardless. But he has learned to simply leave the Mandalorians be, if only because they will eventually fail on their own regardless of his intervention. It would be far more beneficial to let them wear themselves out on the factory’s defences, freeing up the Fleet to continue its usual patrols and try to root out the Alliance. Chasing Mandalorians would simply be a waste of time and resources. Let them believe whatever they wish, it matters not to him.

 

* * *

 

After a day or so of negotiations (Calli would call it arguing, to be quite honest), and enough time for the incoming teams to have sufficiently rested, Calli finds herself with the dubious honour of being the only one assigned to the team headed to Darvannis straight from the Gilded Star mission. She’s flattered by their confidence in her slicing, but _sheesh_ \- Geralt doesn’t half rub it in that he’s staying put with his feet up and a drink in his hand, turning up to watch them depart by very pointedly setting down a pool chair and waving them off while wearing a lurid tropical shirt and an oversized sun hat.

Bastard.

In the end, the team scheduled for the Darvannis mission to join the Mandalorians is Calli, Senya, Cera and Doc. Lieca had briefly considered attending, but Dia outright forbade her from leaving the base. As Cera had cheerfully pointed out, Lieca’s diplomatic approach didn’t exactly mesh well with the more brash Mandalorion take on problem-solving.

Lieca didn’t seem too disappointed at being confined to Odessen, all in all, and Calli had to admit that it came as a huge relief to her as well. Flissa was clearly delighted to have more time with her mother all to herself, and Theron - who seemed to have aged five years in the last few weeks alone- seemed likewise relieved. With both Cera and her husband on the outbound mission, Lieca had leapt on the opportunity to babysit her twin nieces, and Calli had cackled to herself as she’d boarded the ship, the last sight of the base of Theron with a mildly panicked look on his face while the twins each clung to a leg.

Her delight at Theron’s predicament doesn’t last long, however, since clearly Cera and Doc are enjoying the freedom of being childless and on a mission together again far too much. Half an hour. That’s all she asks for, half an hour of decency, but _nooo_ \- and finally Calli abandons the cockpit altogether, fairly certain if she stays, she’s going to poke her own eyes out in horror or try to strangle one of them. Stupid lovey-dovey idiots….they’ve been married, what, like eight years now? Shouldn’t they be over that yet?

She finds Senya playing with a pack of cards in the common room of the ship, patiently reading instructions off a datapad while she tries to figure out her next move. The older woman looks up as she hears Calli approaching, smiling softly. “Ah, Callistra.”

She pauses for a moment, gesturing randomly behind her. “They’re... being a bit much in there,” she says awkwardly, as if she needs to explain why she’s wandering around the ship.

Senya chuckles warmly. “I admit, I was surprised when I met them. You don’t hear many stories of Jedi in such warm relationships. It’s refreshing to see that they have made a place for themselves regardless.”

Calli stares at her, momentarily off-balance. “Uh, yeah,” she says slowly, before frowning. “Sure would be nice if they could keep the making out to themselves though.”

Senya seems rather amused, her eyes almost twinkling. “I highly doubt they were doing so before... but I wouldn’t go back in there for awhile if I were you.”

She shudders. “ _Ew_.”

Senya chuckles again but doesn’t go back to her game, and Calli awkwardly shuffles her feet. “So, uh, what are you doing?”

Senya sighs. “I appreciate your attempts, but you do not need to push yourself to speak with me. I know that my family has caused you and yours some... difficulties. I wish it were otherwise. But I will understand if you do not wish to speak with me.”

Calli snorts. “Yeah I think ‘ _attempted murder of my sister_ ’ is a step above ‘ _difficulties_ ’, but kudos for trying!” she says quickly, watching as Senya frowns in confusion before figuring out the idiom. “But, you know, your eldest is alright. We might keep him.”

Senya tilts her head to the side. “I’m... glad you are fond of Thexan?” she says cautiously. “He was glad to see you home safe.”

That makes her pause. “You know I tried to punch him when we first met, right?” she asks hesitantly.

Senya laughs. “Yes, and managed to knock him to the floor,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Well, he tried to pretend otherwise, but Ona’la told me the true story.”

She smirks in rememberance for a moment before her smile fades again, deciding to address the thranta in the room. “That’s not all they told you, is it?” she says with forced cheer.

Senya raises an eyebrow before her expression clears. “Ah,” she says softly. “And now you are referring to Arcann.”

She winces. “Maybe?”

Senya nods. “Yes, I know.”

Calli finds herself blurting it out before she can stop herself. “I’m sorry I slept with your son to get my sister out!”

Senya blinks in surprise. “I... did not know that.”

She freezes. _Fuck_. “I’m going to go throw myself out the airlock now,” she says blankly.

She turns to go before she hears Senya’s soft laughter. “Callistra! No, please. I’m sorry. I did know that part. I did not mean to embarrass you quite this much. Please, stay.”

If the ship could be attacked at this precise moment that would be great. “Oh, this is just fantastic. Fantastic.” Because oh no, it’s not embarrassing enough that she let the galaxy’s fucking dictator sweet-talk her into bed with barely a word. Oh no, now she has to talk to his _mother_ about the entire thing and she thinks it’s _funny_ and just... something, somewhere, kill her now. “Why would Thexan even tell you that?” she hisses as she spins back around, sure her face is on fire.

Senya seems more amused now at Calli’s utter mortification. “Please, my dear, breathe,” she says quickly, hands out in a gesture of surrender. “And... I think he was just pleased to share news of someone who might know Arcann.”

She takes another deep breath. “Um, I don’t think this counts as the sort of _knowing_ his actual freaking family should be that interested in,” she says quickly. “It’s not like we had an in-depth conversation.”

Senya chuckles. “Ah, the lack of complications of youth,” she says fondly and Calli blanches. The older woman rolls her eyes. “Surely something noteworthy was said to gain each other’s attention?”

Calli folds her arms. “Well, I fell over and swore at him when he tried to help me up,” she mutters. Senya looks unimpressed and she glares at her. “I also called him an asshole.”

Senya raises an eyebrow. “To his face?”

Calli sniffs, remembering her similar conversation with Thexan. “Of course. He was being fucking rude.”

To her surprise Senya’s expression goes almost misty-eyed. “I remember that well. I will admit my... strong opinions on... many subjects was part of what drew Valkorion to me.”

Calli actually takes a step back, horrified. “Wait, _what_?” she hisses. “Ew ew _ew_!”

Senya laughs. “What?”

“I am _not_ having a ‘ _like father like son_ ’ conversation, that is just so…  _ew_!”

Senya waits patiently for her to stop freaking out. “Callistra, this is unnecessary.”

“Oh, you think this is unnecessary do you?” she mutters crossly. “This entire conversation is unnecessary. I’m _dying_ , and you don’t even care.”

Senya sighs. “You are being melodramatic.”

“Sorry, I’m not the one who threw a massive temper tantrum and took over the entire galaxy!”

She regrets the words almost as soon as she says them, Senya’s expression visibly falling, and she all but kicks herself. “Uh, sorry,” she says awkwardly, folding her arms around herself. “I didn’t…”

Senya shakes her head. “No no, it’s not your fault,” she says stiffly.

Which leads them back to an awkward silence until Senya speaks again. “May I... may I ask what he was like?”

Calli blanches. “What he was _like_?” she asks incredulously.

Senya waves her hands. “No, no, not like that!” she says quickly, and then sighs. Her expression, when Calli finally glances back at her, is mournful but... hopeful. “I have not seen him since the day I... left. His public proclamations are, of course, everywhere, but I was... is he different? In person?”

Calli bites her lip. “A little,” she admits softly, looking back at the ground. “At the party... he was kind to me. It threw me off quite a bit, I wasn’t expecting it at all. Not that it mattered in the end of course, but at the time he seemed... genuine.”

She looks back up and Senya is staring at her, her expression unreadable. “What?”

She frowns. “Didn’t Thexan tell you?”

Senya smiles briefly. “I think Thexan was even more uncomfortable about the subject matter than you,” she says dryly. “Even if he knew any, ah... details, he did not share them with his mother.”

“Can’t imagine why,” she mumbles, looking away again at Senya’s chuckle before sighing. “He’s not as polite as Thexan.”

“Arcann?”

“The Emperor, yeah. Well, I certainly _hope_ Thexan didn’t have his people drag Ona’la out of his room and drug her and kick her out of the building after they had sex. Kinda doesn’t bode well for his continued survival, you know?”

She refuses to look back at Senya, doesn’t want to see her face. “Oh, Calli…”

She sniffs. “I was right, he really is such a fucking asshole,” she says miserably. “Don’t know why I expected any different. I was just being stupid. That’s what I get for even briefly trusting intergalactic murderers. That’ll teach me, huh.”

Fuck, she’s such a drama queen. Is she going to keep crying over some dumb fuck to all his family members? This is ridiculous. She shouldn’t have been so stupid as to think he actually thought her worthwhile.

She huffs angrily, tightening her arms around herself. “And then he tried to fucking murder Lieca, right in front of me, and I just... why couldn’t I just take the fucking shot??”

Senya makes a noise of interest, but she’s already on a roll. “But nooo, he had to be all nice to her until his piece of shit father showed up - by the way, Senya, you have _abysmal_ taste in men and that’s saying something coming from _me_ \- and then he just fucking _stabbed_ her and it doesn’t matter, it _doesn’t matter_ that his eye was blue because he just proved how much of a dick he was, and I don’t care, I _don’t care_.”

Senya makes another noise and she looks up to see the older woman’s eyes wide as she watches her. “What do you mean-”

And Calli is saved, _finally_ , by the beeping of the holocommunicator console and all but _leaps_ to answer it and avoid this conversation in a way that doesn’t involve spacing herself. The holo flickers to life with the image of two Mandalorians, and she recognises them from the pictures she swiped from Theron’s reports. She might not know them herself but the others do.

Skyrii Cadera is grinning at the screen, bright red hair mussed from where it’s clearly been contained inside her helmet. _“Well well, look who’s finally coming to join the party? You’re Cera’s sister aren’t you?”_

Calli nods, a little intimidated from the woman’s sheer presence even over the holo. “Yeah that’s me,” she says awkwardly, briefly rubbing at her eyes to try and smear away the tears she’s refusing to acknowledge are there. “You’re Skyrii, aren’t you?”

The woman snorts. “ _Thank fuck you didn’t call me Champion, you must have read your reports.”_

She smiles. “Well, Theron tried to pretend it was protocol, but I could spot his edits a mile off.”

“ _Oh! You must be the slicer, nice!_ ” Skyrii says before scowling. “ _Shan better not be trying to get out of our deal.”_

The second Mandalorian sighs, catching her arm. “ _Cyarika, he’s not even here.”_

Skyrii sighs. “ _This is my riduur, Torian. Shan still owes me a fortune.”_

Calli snorts this time. “Your husband is right, Theron stayed on base. If it makes you feel better, he’s probably desperately hiding from his mother? So he’s not entirely happy at least.”

Skyrii grins. “ _Hmm. That does make me feel better. Who taught you Mando’a?”_

She grimaces. “I don’t know it, not really. Ysaine’s taught me a few words - but from what I’ve overheard, she might not be the best teacher.”

Torian looks like he’s hiding a laugh, while Skyrii looks intrigued. _“You know Viszla’s wife? How?”_

She shrugs. “My brother-in-law is one of the suppliers for the medical stuff for Elsie’s clinic. I’ve seen her there a few times when Geralt’s been dropping things off.”

Skyrii blanches. _“You’re related to Kimble? My apologies.”_

“Hey!”

Calli whips her head around to see Cera and Doc standing there, Cera looking extremely amused and flushed, and Doc looking rather offended with his hair all over the place. “Hey Sky,” Cera calls out cheerfully.

Skyrii rolls her eyes. _“Amell. Are you nearly here and ready to go, or are you just blowing your husband in the back room again?”_

Cera blows a kiss at the screen. “Why not both?” she says cheekily. “As though you haven’t just been riding Torian into the sunset. I know that look.”

Torian coughs, his blush visible even through the screen. “ _Cyare_ ,” he mumbles awkwardly.

Skyrii blows a lock of hair out of her eyes. “ _Fine fine, to business. We’ve almost taken one of the smaller factories, and so far the response hasn’t changed. They don’t seem too concerned. You guys actually planning on meeting us, or just waiting for us to do all the work, again?”_

Cera clicks her tongue. “Give it a rest Sky,” she says wearily. “But, thank you for speaking to Shae and Ysaine for us. It’s appreciated.”

The Mandalorian huffs. _“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see you in a few days then.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Arcann grunts and pulls off the shoulder guard to try to roll his shoulder, the tendons protesting significantly today. He must have pushed it too hard while training with the Knights earlier.

He has tentatively tried a few of the exercises from the letters received from Lieca and that other doctor who had helped her. So far, he finds the most effective one is to reach up while standing between a door frame, and press forward while his hand is kept in place above the doorframe. It doesn’t tend to stop any pain, but the stretch does seem to settle the joint for awhile, and that is all he is really looking for at the moment.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, he then drops his arm and moves over to the stack of datapads on his caf table, waiting for his perusal. He finds himself working in his private quarters more than the throne room lately. His back certainly prefers lounging in his quarters to sitting on the throne - and his face seems to prefer the freedom it brings. He does not remove his mask outside of his rooms. Nobody is allowed to see his scars.

It helps when he catches sight of his reflection though. The mask was good at keeping him from looking too much like Thexan. Now that he can see the scars - it’s not quite as good, but he’s stopped jumping as much.

It also helps that when he pictures Thexan now he starts to picture that pretender, who has longer darker hair. As much as he _hates_ that that man is starting to mess with his memories of Thexan, it really does help.

He grits his teeth and ignores the glowing light on the datapad that indicates a message from the pretender, the soft golden colour different to his other message alerts.

But the thought of Thexan does make him remember his private banking accounts, also secured by the Gilded Star. He might not have accessed the accounts in years, but it’s still his money, and it hadn’t occurred to him earlier that it might have been compromised, but now the thought won’t leave him be.

It takes awhile to remember how to even locate the account, let alone remember his credentials. He scowls as he enters the password, choosing not to dwell on the significance from when he chose it as a child. The amount of available funds has changed significantly since he last previewed the account - which is to be expected, it has been years accumulating interest after all. But there has been activity on it recently, and fear grips his heart as he checks the latest transactions.

The fear quickly fades into confusion - there is a significant number of withdrawals on the account, but predominantly rather small amounts? And seemingly very specific amounts, all on the same day, and all transfers. He almost thinks it might be some sort of code from the repeated characters, but that would be ridiculous. Besides, who could possibly have the time and motivation to use numerical codes of such specific characters in an account that he barely used?

There is a notification on the account and he selects it mostly to make the little exclamation point disappear. His eyebrows lift immediately as he reads the message, the contents the exact opposite of his expectations.

_“Yes, I am entitled to take this money. You owe me, at least THREE WEEKS of spa days if not more, you tosser. And I shall enjoy them immensely. And change your password! You’re such an idiot.”_

He stares at the message blankly, trying to determine exactly who would both sending such a message… and realising the inevitable, that it must be Calli.

His heart absolutely does not leap at the revelation, and he squashes it down flat by reading her insults again, wishing desperately that he could not hear them so clearly in her voice.

It proves she was on the Gilded Star, and that the Alliance must have been involved in the attack. It was the only way she could have accessed his personal accounts - and also that no-one else had seen them. Anyone else would have wiped the accounts clean after all - it’s what he would do in their place.

_So why didn’t she?_

 

* * *

 

Calli represses the urge to shake her hand, her knuckles stinging from the blow to Fett’s nose, and ignores Cera’s heavy sigh to focus on Ysaine’s clear delight in the situation.

The older woman all but cackles, beaming at her fellow Mandalorian. “A mere slip of a girl huh?” she says gleefully.

Considering Calli would be easily less than half of Ysaine’s size - the woman was clearly part-mountain for fuck’s sake, and one that Shae obviously does not mind climbing - she doesn’t think it’s a necessarily wrong observation. Just a rather rude one. And that tone could really go and take a hike. Bloody Mandalorians.

Their team had arrived shortly after one of the Mandalorian assaults, the warriors having started already to make it less clear that it was an Alliance strike. Cera had immediately collared Shae into explaining the tactical positioning of the strike teams while Doc joined Ysaine in healing the injured, luckily too busy to fall back into his usual brand of inappropriateness, and thus avoided getting clobbered by Ysaine or her wife. Senya had volunteered to run with one of the patrols to familiarise herself with the defences, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out that she’s trying to find some actual physical space to process the conversation she and Calli had had several days ago.

Which left Calli awkwardly pacing around a bunch of giant Mandalorians in heavy armour whose disdain for her ‘ _weak_ ’ slicing was almost tangible in the air. She spent her afternoon hacking the accounts of the few she heard dismissing her, and poured her winnings into Shae’s balance - after giving a clearly grinning Skyrii her share for providing their names. Both the Grand Champion and her husband seem to have adopted Calli somewhat after they returned from their own battle - and they are far more fun to talk to than the others, so she didn’t really mind.

What she does mind is assholes talking down to her as though her skills weren’t the real reason they were all here in the first place. Thus Fett getting punched in the face, and Shae obviously trying not to laugh at the sight.

Senya’s lips are twitching in amusement as she steps between Calli and Fett as though shielding her, and she’s strangely touched at the gesture. “Perhaps it would be wise to take a break,” the former Knight says solemnly, her icy blue eyes on Fett. The two of them had run together in the patrol, so clearly she’s got some kind of take on his character.

Shae nods. “I agree. We’ll regroup in the morning, when everyone is fresh. Maybe someone will have a plan by then. Dismissed.”

Calli sniffs disdainfully and turns on her heel to leave before Cera starts laying into her about diplomacy or some shit. Bloody good thing that Lieca isn’t here, she’d be able to feel that disapproval without her even saying anything.

To her surprise, Ysaine follows their party out, grinning broadly at her look of suspicious confusion, holding out her hand to her. “Bloody good hit that,” she says, gesturing to Calli. “Come on girl, let’s see.”

Calli frowns and shows her her hand. “It’s just a little bruised, it’ll be fine-” she starts quickly.

Ysaine clucks her tongue at her, immediately catching her hand in hers. “You’ve been spending too much time with weird Jedi healers, girl. It’s going to swell unless we put something on it. And you need all your fingers working tomorrow if you’re going to do your weird magical hacking shit. Come on.”

Ysaine leads her away into one of the tents, forcing the others out when they try to follow, and rummages in one of her kits to find her supplies. “Everything in here is such a mess, bloody Mandos touching everything,” she mutters to herself, still not releasing Calli’s hand.

Her proximity is still more than a little intimidating, and Calli flushes when Ysaine cocks her head at her. “You okay, girl?”

She blinks. “Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be? Um, you can let go though. If you need both hands.”

Ysaine frowns in confusion and suddenly laughs, releasing her and stepping back to find another box of supplies. “Do I make you nervous?” she teases.

She flushes darker. “A little,” she admits grumpily. “I certainly don’t fancy pissing off Mandalore.”

Ysaine snorts, her back still to her. “Nah, she’d be fine. She’d probably ask to join in, if you weren’t like half our age. But we like our space sometimes.”

“So it is true about you and Dia?”

Ysaine laughs as she spins around, her sheer size making the tent seem far smaller. “Maybe,” she says, grinning wolfishly. “Elsie was sure pissed though.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You had sex in the clinic didn’t you?”

Ysaine winks, ripping open the packet with her teeth. “Keep those eyes on the prize girl. You’ve got plenty to do tomorrow to keep your mind off things.”

She sighs, wincing as Ysaine spreads the cool gel over her fingers. “Yeah yeah, fine, I’ll be less nosey.”

Skyrii suddenly pokes her head through the tent. “Hey! Speaking of nosey, everyone’s very excited to meet the girl who broke Fett’s nose. Come party with us! Your sister said yes too, and if you don’t hurry she’ll win the drinking competition,” she calls before disappearing again.

Calli blinks after her, slowly turning back to Ysaine. “Does she... always do that?”

Izzy sighs. “She’s very dramatic yes. And to think we thought Torian would be a calming influence on her.” She steps back, hands on her hips. “Well, that should do it for now. Go party - we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Arcann runs his hand over his face in distraction, swinging his legs to sit on the edge of the bed and trying to repress the anxious urge to pull the mask off.

Tonight’s celebrations for the Day of Shining Light, to commemorate the defeat of Nahut, had gone rather well considering the chaos the Alliance has been causing throughout his Empire. There had been a rather lively atmosphere as opposed to the more somber festivities the week before, and for once it made him feel more energised rather than drained.

Determined to prove a point to himself about his lack of feelings regarding his last disastrous conquest, his attention had been partially divided with choosing a partner for the evening. The first man to catch his attention, bright blue eyes glittering over his raised glass of champagne, had almost been selected had it not been for the arrival of what was obviously his partner, the man kissing his cheek in greeting. Normally such a thing would not entirely dissuade him - if people became so eager for his affections, they couldn’t possibly be that close with their paramours to begin with. But the idea of stumbling through what could be a close relationship and potentially driving a wedge between two lovers, all because one might choose his title over his personhood, makes his stomach turn now.

In the end he had selected a beautiful woman with her long dark hair pinned elegantly at the base of her neck, the soft stripe of blue along the edges of her gown drawing his eye. He’s not sure who he hopes he is convincing, trying to prove that he no longer possesses any lingering emotions from his last foray into the crowds, but he certainly hopes it is working.

Had he been in less of a sulk, he knows he would have realised instantly that such a plan was doomed to fail from the start, but at the time he was still heavily into denial. At least the mask hopefully hid most of his disappointment in the entire affair.

The sinking feeling in his chest at the woman’s almost clinical disrobing at his request still annoys him to recall. It was not as though the situation was at all unusual - Calli’s amusing obtuseness about his intentions was obviously the more unique response to his advances. The stubborn tilt to her head as her eyes sparkled with defiance… it had been unique yes, but not special enough to make all other encounters dull… right?

He had tried to focus on his paramour, pushing aside the frustrating thoughts about Calli and her betrayal and the panic he felt at the chance this woman was somehow the same. He was _Emperor_ , he would not be subject to the whims of another! He would not allow her to break him! So he had ruthlessly pushed his feelings aside, concentrating solely on how good _this_ woman’s mouth felt on him. Maybe her lips weren’t quite as soft, maybe she didn’t use his name. It was always enough before, why should this time have been any different?

But of course, nothing could ever be that easy. As he had struggled to control his breathing he had had the unbidden thought of how absolutely fantastic Calli’s mouth would feel on him instead, and he had lost control completely as he came hard, apparently startling the woman as much as himself.

Annoyed and ashamed at how quickly he had given in to such base desires - and over his enemy, no less -, he had then quickly tried to reassert control by pulling the woman up and pressing her down into his bed. The fact that such an act kept her face turned away from him as she lay on her stomach was pure coincidence. He was _not_ hiding, _not_ pretending she was someone else.

In the end, he ensured that they were both satisfied (not to the degree of her never wanting anyone else because only he would ever be enough for her _shut up brain_ ) but he did not want to risk... _anything_ happening, and so she was taken away by his servants almost immediately afterwards. As he had always done. As it should be.

Which led to him sitting on the edge of his bed, trying not to feel anything, let alone how angry and confused and alone he was.

She had not been left alone in his rooms for a moment, she had obviously not intended to defraud him in the same way that Calli had before. She had not objected to him in the slightest, almost gleeful in her acquiescence to his request. She had not used his name, she had used his title. She had not made him laugh, but she did not make his chest hurt either. She was exactly what he had always requested from his paramours.

So why was it suddenly not enough?

 

* * *

 

Calli quickly ducks out of the tent, tugging her jacket down and desperately trying to smooth her hair into some semblance of order.

Mandalorian parties are certainly something else - they party as hard as they fight. And apparently knocking one of their leaders down to size had earned their admiration rather than scorn, and so she had been a rather flustered centre of attention for a large portion of the evening.

And then Torian’s friend... Corri-something, had been making eyes at her for most of the night, and so she did the logical thing and dragged him off to his tent. Which was _significantly_ more fun than her most recent one-night-stands, but still seemed to be missing... something. The Mandalorian was charming and attentive and very good with his hands, but he also made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything else past this night. And normally that was more than fine with her? She honestly prefers partners who were clear about their intentions. Makes things easier the next day and whatnot.

So why does she still feel unsettled?

She huffs and pulls her jacket closer, not sure where she’s headed other than away.

Somehow she’s not quite surprised to finally break free of the tents and find Senya there, sitting on a rock and looking up at the early morning sky. It’s sort of really late and sort of really early, and it just seems to make sense that even at such an absurd hour, Senya would be here to witness her walk of shame. The older woman turns as she stumbles into the clearing, her pale blue eyes almost glowing in the low lighting. “Calli?”

She scowls, folding her arms. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

Senya raises an eyebrow. “I could ask the same of you,” she says dryly, before looking back up. “It’s... peaceful. Seeing the skies of different worlds. Something I never really noticed until I left Zakuul.”

Calli looks up for a moment and shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” she says quietly.

They stay in silence for a long while before Senya catches her attention again. “Are you alright, Calli?”

She flinches. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine,” she says with false confidence, tucking her hair back behind her ears. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Senya seems unconvinced. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself at the party,” she says slowly, a hint of a smile on her face. “Yet you seem melancholic now. Is there something on your mind?”

She sniffs. “‘Course. Nothing to be worried about at all. Just me and a ridiculous number of droids to get past to get to GEMINI tomorrow without being spotted. It’s fine.”

Senya makes a soothing noise, slowly getting to her feet again. “Everything will be alright,” she says gently. “There is less need for secrecy tomorrow - the Mandalorians will do their part, and Cera and I will be able to defend you. And with the blueprints you already retrieved for this factory, we know exactly where to go. You have done so well to get us this far, I know you can do this next part with ease.”

She swallows, the sentiment from a near stranger somehow meaning more than when her sisters say it. “Thank you,” she says quietly, before looking away from her awkwardly. “Um, I was actually just heading out here to check my mail, so…?”

Senya chuckles and nods. “By all means,” she says, moving back to the rock she was sitting on, “do not let me interrupt you.”

She smiles politely and turns her attention to her holocom, half turning away for privacy. Behind her, she can hear Senya humming under her breath, and the tune relaxes her without her really thinking about it; she’s sifting through the junk when she comes down the list to see a message from Bowdaar. Her smile turns far more genuine as she sees it, already feeling calmer just reading his name. _Force_ , she misses her best friend.

But his letter just brings more questions than answers, and maybe she made a sound, or something, because the singing stops and she hears Senya stand again. “Calli?”

The note of concern shifts her out of her own thoughts, looking up at Senya in confusion. “I don’t understand?” she says helplessly.

Senya clucks her tongue. “What is wrong?”

She frowns back at her holocom. “Bowie says that the slave ring he was about to destroy was taken out by the Knights, with Vaylin leading the charge. They destroyed all of the gangs in the immediate vicinity of the bar, and then most of those in the Old World. But I just... they never cared about the slavers before? Why would they suddenly act now?”

Senya’s expression changes, a flash of realisation very abruptly hidden behind a mask of neutrality, and Calli is immediately suspicious. “What?” she snaps quickly.

Senya pauses. “If I understand correctly, when you went to Zakuul to stop Kaliyo, you made a point of showing yourselves in your friend’s bar yes? That would obviously draw the attention of the Spire. But they have not acted against your friend in any way,” she says slowly. “Perhaps they realised his intentions and wanted to... help? Somehow?”

She stares at Senya incredulously. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Senya makes a vaguely frustrated noise. “I do not know exactly how my children think,” she says sadly. “Not anymore, obviously. But I do not think that the timing is a coincidence. If they did not react to the slavers until you were positively linked with someone who opposes slavers... perhaps the connection is you?”

Calil just keeps staring. “Um, how much of that Mandalorian brew did you actually have?”

Senya hums in amusement. “Enough. But that’s not why I’m saying this.”

“So... you really think your kids have finally found some altruistic streak because of... _me_ ,” she says dryly, squashing her fluttering heart. “Yeah, I really don’t think so. Pretty sure the only reason they think of me is to figure out how to kill me.”

She ignores the memory of Arcann’s eyes when he first saw her in the Control Spar, and the fact that he kept her ring. It... none of it means _anything_ , alright? He’s still... he’s still the Emperor, no matter what. He still killed millions. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of her.

Senya’s gaze softens. “I do not think that is true,” she admits softly. “And neither do you.”

Her face flames. “I’m sorry, but what part of _he stabbed my sister_ makes you think he has any positive feelings towards the Alliance at all? Besides, maybe, _just freaking maybe_ , if he wanted to be nice he could’ve been less of a gigantic _jerk_ at the time okay? I had a much nicer time tonight where I _didn’t_ get thrown out like a thief in the night, thank you very much!”

Senya looks sad. “I am sorry.”

She stares at her blankly. “For what?

Senya sighs. “For whatever made you retreat out here rather than stay content with your choice.”

She bristles, feeling a little insulted. “What was I supposed to do then, just lie in his arms and talk about how lovely life is until the morning?” she snaps, voice dripping sarcastically. “No thank you. I have better things to do.”

She really hopes this isn’t normal, the mother of one of her previous one-night-stands analysing her most recent one. Ugh. This Alliance is such a messed-up family. It’s freaking weird.

Senya holds her arms up in surrender. “Please, I apologise. I meant no disrespect.”

She folds her arms. “It’s fine,” she says shortly, and another long silence reigns before Senya speaks again.

“If I might say something…?”

“Sure, go right ahead.” _Why the hell not Senya, this conversation couldn’t get more embarrassing._

“Do you feel that your awkwardness with your current paramour could be related to what happened with Arcann?”

…. oh she was so wrong, this is about one thousand times more embarrassing, and her face goes bright red. “What?!” she hisses.

Senya pauses. “I... I know a little bit about what it’s like, to be with someone so powerful who makes you feel like the centre of the world,” she says carefully, looking away. “I mean, it is of course not entirely the same but... what happened between myself and Valkorion... there were some similarities.”

She desperately tries to get her blushing under control, trying to fight the urge to snap at her. Senya sounds serious, and maybe this conversation will get her away from having to talk about Arcann. Maybe. If she’s lucky. But Valkorion? Ew.

Senya apparently doesn’t notice her internal argument, gaze on the sky again. “You have to understand, Valkorion’s place in our people, our culture - there was a level of power there that I could never hope to match, our social standings so far apart I could have been one of the kitchen servants and it still would have baffled me. It was... thrilling, to be the choice of such a powerful person; intoxicating, to feel important to his world. He smiled at me and I would have done anything to stay by his side.”

“And then we had Thexan, and Arcann, and Vaylin. And the cracks were there, from the start, but I was infatuated, and I let my feelings blind me to what was really happening. The level of cruelty he showed to his own children... I should have spoken up years before I did. But I did not, and I will carry that burden for the rest of my life.”

She looks back to Calli, her eyes shining. “My children will forever bear the burden of my choice. I acted too late, and I lost Vaylin. My beautiful daughter, who laughed with me in the sunlight, is gone because I did not fight for her when I should have.”

Senya then pauses again, expression determined. “I am sorry that my son hurt you,” she says quietly. “But you have chances that I did not, choices that I did not take. You do what’s best for you - do not let that guilt bury you, as I did. Your sister _lives_ because of you, because you sacrificed so much for her. Unlike me, you made the right choice, and you have your family with you, and they will stand by your side regardless of what happens.”

She doesn’t even realise she’s crying until Senya steps closer, hesitantly lifting her hand to cup her face. “Because they love you and just want you to be happy.”

Calli is too overwhelmed to speak, and Senya seems to sense that, moving back to a more acceptable distance while she quickly swipes at her eyes. “Now then, are you ready to show my son who’s boss and capture the GEMINI droid?”

She sniffs. “Yes,” she says quietly. “And... thank you.”

Senya smiles.

 

* * *

 

Arcann snarls and pushes off the bed irritably, stalking towards his caf table and his never ending tower of datapads. If he can’t sleep, he might as well work.

The room is slightly cooler than expected though, and he grumpily pulls on a nearby robe to relieve some of the chill. Of course, the silk itself is also quite cool but he grits his teeth and ignores it. He stoops to pick up the tie for the robe and pauses midway at the flash of memory of the way Calli gasped when he kissed her, her eyes hidden from him by the same tie. Snarling in disgust at his lack of focus, he tosses the silk tie away, angrily turning on his heel and heading over to his couch. There is no-one else here anymore, he doesn’t have to worry about any sort of modesty. He can sit here in a open robe that definitely doesn’t remind him of Calli in any way and look over his reports.

There is still a significant amount of intelligence to sift through as he struggles to learn the Alliance’s motives and plans. Annoyingly, the planet Darvannis keeps appearing in his reports, as though it is somehow noteworthy that the Mandalorians are still attacking.

He grunts and opens up the reports on the table’s interface, reviewing the troop numbers and factory defences. It’s actually somewhat disconcerting how little the Mandalorians have achieved, as though they are simply delaying rather than trying to claim the factories.

He frowns and locates the reports on troop arrivals, noting that more Mandalorians have been landing in their camps each day. Perhaps they were waiting for all of their troops for some grand assault? The inability to sit still and wait for their comrades is certainly something that he expects of them. Impatient bloodthirsty fools that they are.

The GEMINI droid beneath the factory has nothing new to report either, safely secured out of sight, out of mind. Even if the Mandalorians did manage to pull themselves together and mount a successful attack on the main factory, they would not be able to find the droid. What were they going to do, smash through all the walls? He scoffs. Unlikely.

It is a little curious how little they have achieved though. Almost as though they are... waiting for something?

He sighs and pulls up the next report, dated slightly later in the day. His frown deepens as he finds notes from the factory’s defences of a substantially larger force attacking it compared to the earlier days, including the presence of multiple smaller strike teams? The Mandalorians had destroyed the anti-aircraft artillery the day before, which had also accidentally brought down part of the security network in the explosions. He continues to scroll through reports and images, hoping the dread starting to build in his gut is going to be unfounded panic and not an indication that he may have misstepped, badly.

Maybe it wasn’t just Mandalorians trying to destroy the factory after all?

And that idea is confirmed a few minutes later when he finds an image taken from one of the security cameras and his heart stops to recognise Lieca, in the process of throwing her lightsaber to slice through the Skytrooper patrol droid standing in the entrance to the room.

Because if Lieca is there, that means she is acting for the Alliance, and if the Alliance is there... what do they want with the facto-

 _No_.

The Alliance is after the GEMINI droid.

 _Fucking frozen wasteland piece of shit_ , how could he be so _blind_?

He tries to keep a rein on his temper as he attempts to find details on the current status of GEMINI on Darvannis, and his heart races to find _nothing_. No visuals, no connections, no response to his demands, _nothing_.

He curses wildly again, the holo images on the console flickering in response with his anger, and looks for the last data they have available from the GEMINI droid.

He might not be able to read specific code worth a damn, but even he can see the telltale signs of GEMINI putting up a fight, and his temper flares enough that the lamp on the nearby table goes flying across the room.

He finally locates a file found by his intelligence teams, showing the last few moments of visuals processed by GEMINI before it went offline.

He is somehow not surprised to see an all-too-familiar woman standing there, but his heart still stops to see Calli’s face as she stands in front of the droid, her nose scrunched up in concentration as she pressed something on her datapad.

Izax and Aivela take him now, of _course_ it was her.

Too furious to dwell on what it means, only filled with rage on how he has been so easily bested, he storms across the room to the command console, which luckily only reveals his head and potentially torso and so will not reveal his state of undress. “ _Answer me_ ,” he demands furiously, sending out the emergency codes to his war council and clipping his mask over his face to hide his scars.

Luckily his generals are by now used to the odd hours he sometimes keeps, and it takes less than a minute for one of them to answer him, doing her best to look professional despite the late (early?) hour. “ _Your Imperial Majesty?_ ”

He snarls angrily. “Send the Fleet to Darvannis, _immediately_.”

The woman whips her head to the side, clearly waiting for one of her aides to give her reports, before her expression falters. “ _My... my lord, we do not have any presence in that area at this time.”_

He scowls. “They need to be there _now_.”

The screen flickers and a second speaker takes over, the younger man looking even more harried than his superior. _“Sir, it would take at least seven hours for the nearest patrol to even get close, we cannot have the Fleet at that location in any less time!”_

He says nothing, his displeasure obvious in the way he glares at them, and eventually hangs up with no further word. Let his useless staff panic about how they have failed him.

Better to keep his rage than dwell on how badly he underestimated the Alliance, how badly he underestimated _Calli_.

Better to stay angry than face the sinking realisation that if anyone had to have bested him, he was at least glad it was her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ysaine Pierce (Shae Viszla's wife and yes, Lt/Major Pierce's older sister), Ona'la, Anya, Jaelin and Thexan's personality and post-KOTFE-opening scene story all belong to the lovely Defira :D


	21. Neutrality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mild sexual content, references to past self-harm and past child abuse

Lieca hums under her breath, running her fingers through Theron’s hair where his head lies in her lap. After the last week with Cera’s loudmouth twins, his implants have been massively overloaded and he’s had an awful headache all day. Luckily, all the kids are in lessons with Ona’la and Satele right now, so they have a moment to themselves for once. She finds it a little amusing how Theron sprawls across the couch - she’s sitting neatly cross-legged with her back to the armrest, but Theron is half hanging off the couch like some gangly spider, and somehow still seems comfortable.

She’s only lectured him a few times about how irresponsible he is, having his implants so finely tuned for fieldwork rather than daily use - he might have even listened once or twice, grumbling as he buried his head in her shoulder or now, in her lap.

But even if the stern talks about looking after himself better are annoying him with her hypocrisy, he’s not going to move away while she’s got him here. She used to get awful headaches while using the shielding technique on the Jedi Masters all those years ago, and she sometimes passed them on to Cera by accident. Both twins quickly learned the best way to use massage to provide the relief that medicine and rest sometimes took too long for. Head, neck, shoulders - both of them were well versed in what to do to relax the muscles fast. As soon as she puts the right amount of pressure on Theron’s temples he just about melts, and she feels rather smug about the entire thing.

She instinctively tries to push a little Force healing into the pressure, and her eyes widen as the push is far harder than she was expecting; Theron winces. “Ow! Not so hard Liss,” he whines, snuggling closer.

It just reminds her of another thing she’s been ignoring, and she sighs as she looks at her fingers. Ever since Satele and Marr helped her seal Valkorion, she’s been having... _issues_ with the Force. Everything still works the way it used to, but she keeps overextending herself so easily, accidentally pushing too hard when she needs to be using a light touch. It’s disastrous and frustrating having to concentrate too much to only produce the little bursts of power so necessary to her healing, especially when she all but took for granted how naturally her ability to heal had always come to her.

Satele had tried to soothe her, saying it was probably just a natural reaction to keeping Valkorion contained for so long - her power would naturally be magnified now, and she just needed to get used to it again. But it unsettles her, and she’s been hiding it.

She and Theron have obviously spoken a lot since Valkorion was sealed (and her cheeks heat at remembering how some of the conversations ended), but for an acclaimed diplomat, she’s still such a fool around him and stumbles on her words. And when he smugly points it out, she dryly insists he’s a bad influence on her. She hasn’t mentioned this yet, not to him or to Cera, because it’s one thing for her mentor to know that’s she’s struggling and another thing entirely for her sister or her... partner, gosh, is that the right word? She doesn’t want to worry him, regardless of what term she should be using for him.

But it is important that he knows, and she did promise to try to stop hiding things so much. She pauses to take a deep breath before speaking, and Theron chuckles.

Deflated, she frowns at him. “What?”

He cracks one eye open, looking up at her in amusement. “You stopped. Which either means I’m in trouble, or you’re thinking too hard about something.”

She pouts. “Maybe it’s both.”

He winces. “Ouch! Straight for the heart,” he moans, before going quiet and catching her hand in his. “But seriously, what’s bothering you?”

She bites her lip. “Theron…”

As though he can sense where her thoughts are going, he sighs and releases her hand to sit up, groaning dramatically on the way up as he spins to prop himself up against the back of the couch beside her. He then takes a deep breath, turning further to face her fully. “Alright, hit me.”

She rolls her eyes, but giggles. “Must you be so dramatic?”

He grins, rubbing the back of his ear. “If it makes you laugh?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s quite why you always do it, my darling.”

He flushes, that shy fluster he always gets whenever she uses any endearments - another thing that certainly hasn’t changed since their time together on Yavin 4. He then coughs. “Um, you were saying something?”

She smiles, but takes pity on him, and moves her hand to tangle their fingers together. “I’ve been…” She pauses, sighing. “Ever since… your mother joined us, I’ve been having _problems_ with my connection to the Force.”

“That’s okay baby, it happens to a lot of people, you know there are stims for that?” His attempt at humour falls a little flat, and although she giggles awkwardly, she can see in his eyes that he’s worried. He sighs, and his expression switches to serious, eyes crinkled at the edges. “What are you talking about, Liss?”

She focuses on their hands, because it’s a little too much looking him in the eye right now; she doesn’t know whether it’s the fear that he’ll laugh at her, or the fear that he’ll dismiss her worries, but she can’t look at him right now. “Everything I do seems more powerful, less… controlled. Even tiny bursts of healing - I’m putting too much pressure, moving things too quickly. Satele says it’s just my body relaxing after dealing with Valkorion for so long but I… I’m worried.”

She doesn’t look up, tensing for the burst of his mocking laughter, but instead feels his hand under her chin, tilting her face back up towards him. “Liss, are you alright?” he asks gently, all concerned rather than upset. “I appreciate you telling me, of course - not that I really get it, I mean, I _get_ it, but I can’t ever really experience it for myself so I’m just sort of assuming-”

“Theron.”

“Rambling, yes, my bad, what I meant to say is - are you okay?”

She smiles faintly, gripping his hand tight, and it seems to relax him. “Yes, I think so,” she says softly. “I’m just… worried. About everything.”

Theron raises an eyebrow. “You? Worried? Perish the thought.”

She frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re just as bad!”

“Ah, no. My only concern right now is that Dia’ayla is going to realise I smuggled you out of the medbay and she’s going to come in here and _stare_ at me with those weird Sithy eyes.” She giggles and he grins. “And, you know, that my girlfriend will just _laugh_ at me rather than help,” he continues mournfully.

She rolls her eyes, moving suddenly to hug him. “You know I’ll always help,” she says quietly into his ear, arms tightening around him.

He huffs against her. “I know,” he says, squeezing her back, before his tone lightens again. “And you’ll give me one thousand heart attacks while you do it. I know how this works.”

She mimics his huff back at him, pushing on his chest to balance herself as she moves to straddle him, pinning his hands by his shoulders. “Listen here, you,” she starts hotly, and he laughs.

“You’ve been spending too much time with your sisters, you’re starting to sound like them,” he snickers, nudging her nose with his.

She gasps, all mock outrage. “I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of imitating them both with ease!” she declares, turning her nose up and laughing as he pounces on the opportunity to sloppily kiss her neck.

The mood shifts slightly as he nips her with his teeth; she gasps, but when he pulls back again, his expression is carefully blank. “Of course, I totally believe you. No need to prove it to me.”

She frowns. “I feel this is a trap.”

He feigns shock. “A trap? Me? You’re the one pinning _me_ to the couch.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And _you’re_ the one who absolutely loves it,” she says pointedly, wriggling her hips until he gasps, his head falling back.

“Lieca, this is so not fair,” he whines. “You _know_ we have to go back to the war room to call your sisters soon. We need to find out where we’re up to. And I haven’t forgotten that you’re worried about your Force using. You’re trying to distract me and it’s _working_.”

She relents and releases his hands to move her arms around his neck, still playing with his hair. The gesture tends to relax them both - she’s always been comforted by touch, and luckily Theron is growing more receptive to her preferred form of intimacy again. To her delight, he still seems just as fond of cuddling as she is, as much as he pretends otherwise. And most of the time it’s not even to escalate to anything more physical, though she suspects that his intentions are not quite so pure right now.

Case in point, the way his hands immediately move once she releases him, one hand sliding casually under her skirt, bunched up by her movement on the couch. She smiles innocently. “Well, by all means - I can move if you want me to.”

His grip on her tightens, one hand low on her hip, the other idly stroking her leg just above her boots. “ _Or_ you could stay,” he says casually. “It’s quite nice. But you get to explain why we’re late.”

She absolutely does not rock her hips against him as she smiles sweetly, his eyes glazing over for a moment. “Whatever is there to explain, love? It’s just a hug. Unless… you want something else?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, voice a little tight but otherwise feigning disinterest. But the gleam in his amber eyes and the slow circles his clever fingers are drawing on her calf under her skirts indicate otherwise. She wonders how high she’ll let his hand drift before she calls him out on it - of course, it would be much more fun to let him do what he wants.

She pouts and re-settles, hiding a grin at the way it makes him hiss, keeping her arms loosely looped around his neck. “Whatever am I to do with you?” she teases, all false innocence.

His hand shifts higher, lightly stroking the back of her knee. “I have a few ideas,” he drawls, voice husky and absolutely unfair.

She leans forward to rub her nose against his, delighting in the way the changed pressure makes him twitch again. “Oh? Are you going to share with the class?”

He glares at her briefly, his hand now warm on her thigh. “Don’t want to share,” he says grumpily.

She feigns shock, all wide-eyed and pouting lips. “Oh, but Master Shan! We are supposed to be working together as a _team_ and-mmph!”

Theron apparently decides the easiest way to stop her continuing this silly conversation is to kiss her fiercely, and honestly, she’s perfectly fine with that.

“Don’t you _like_ my ideas?” she pouts, voice a little breathier than she would like from his kisses.

He grunts and shifts his grip, his hand casually moving higher again. “”You. Are. A. Menace,” he grumbles, punctuating each word with an eager kiss, moaning softly as she nips his lip with her teeth.

She wants to argue the point but she loses her train of thought as soon as his fingers move that last little bit and instead she moans. “ _Theron_.”

He chuckles, his tone raspy as he kisses her neck. “ _Fuck_ , I love it when you say my name like that. A little too much,” he pauses. “Don’t remember that.”

She’s fairly certain her face is already on fire and she shudders, her mind jumping all over the place. “You - you’re just, _oh_. You!” she pants, giving in and burying her face in his neck. Even after all this time he’s still able to embarrass her with how well he knows her and her body, and it still makes her tongue-tied and shy even as she moans his name.

Theron chuckles underneath her, but slows his fingers down. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks softly.

She growls at him, the sound unusual enough to startle him and make her dissolve into embarrassed giggles. “No! Um, oh dear.”

He laughs again, the sound honest and pleased at the same time, and he gently tugs on her hair with his other hand to pull her head back so he can see her face. He then gently cups her cheek. “So you _like_ it,” he says cheekily, but there’s a soft flush to his own cheeks too as he starts to move his fingers again. “Makes me feel like I actually might know what I’m doing.”

She glares at him, and he smirks until she deliberately rolls her hips against him, and his smile slips off with a rather high-pitched moan. “Lieca! Oh, _now_ who’s cheating?”

She giggles, trying to concentrate even as he shifts the angle. “More fun this way,” she gasps, and he shudders and kisses her hard.

 

* * *

 

It’s quite some time later that she’s standing in front of the mirror, trying to pin her hair back into some semblance of order and fix her lipstick, and Theron is still flexing his fingers as he pulls his gloves back on. She smoothes her skirts down again before frowning at the little marks on her neck, lifting one hand to cover them and start healing just as Theron walks up behind her, the very definition of smug.

He moves his hands to her hips, resting his head on her other shoulder. “That was some lovely work, alright?” he says, feigning offence.

She blushes. “Terror.”

He looks even more proud of himself, and moves to kiss her just as her holo beeps and he groans dramatically instead. “Argh, fine,” he grumbles, stepping away.

Shaking her head in amusement she recognises the sender and activates the holo. “Lana? How are things?”

The image of the Sith appears on her holo, hands neatly behind her back and eyebrow arched in disapproval. _“There you are! I was trying to call Theron, but it seems he is ignoring me. You two are late.”_

Theron salutes sarcastically in her direction and Lieca frowns at him before turning a sunny smile on Lana. “Not to worry. What news do you have?”

Lana is still frowning, and gestures to the side. _“Your sisters have sent through some news, to the secure data terminal. Holiday also has some reports I would like you both to look over. Preferably before the children’s classes are finished for the day.”_

She nods. “We’ll be there shortly, Lana.”

It doesn’t take long to make their way to the war room, despite Theron’s repeated attempts to steal kisses, and she’s still in a rather good mood when she walks in. “Lana! What do you need?”

Jezhara scowls at them from her position behind her wife, gently rubbing her shoulders. “At least three more assistants and the codes for the _good_ caf, _Shan_ ,” she says crossly, glaring at Theron.

He holds his hands up in surrender and moves to the requested cabinet to unlock the _‘sacred stash_ ’. Lieca pulls a face before moving to Lana’s side. “Are you alright?”

She waves her off irritably. “Just a headache,” she mumbles. “I am fine.”

Jezhara raises an eyebrow at Theron. “Weren’t you being ridiculous over a headache earlier?” she asks suspiciously.

Theron shrugs, still facing the cabinet. “What can I say, Lieca is _very_ good.”

She flushes instantly, pretending she didn’t hear him. “I know some healing techniques that can ease the pressure,” she says quickly.

Jezhara’s bejewelled eyebrow inches higher. “Are you propositioning my wife, Amell?”

Lieca chokes and Theron apparently hits his head on the cabinet by the thud and the way he curses. “Jezhara!” she starts hotly.

Lana sighs. “Dearest, please stop teasing her,” she says heavily. “Lieca, as I can see you’re not going to let me ignore this, if you can help it would be appreciated.”

“I don’t like to see you in pain Lana, not when I can help,” she says quickly, stepping over to stand in front of the Sith and move her hands to her temples. “Besides, this technique is easier for someone else to perform - it’s hard to do it for yourself.”

She hears the trundling of the protocol droid summoned to collect the good caf to make the drinks for them all, but continues concentrating on using the Force correctly to ease Lana’s pain. Won’t do any good if she slips up and sends a burst into her, because the next thing she’d know, Lana would have a burst blood vessel in her eye, and Jezhara would be on the warpath, and Theron would try to intervene, and she’d be trying to apologize, and she-

_Focus, Amell._

She looks up a few minutes later to see Jezhara in the process of flicking a caf bean into Theron’s hair; she sighs, mostly relieved. “Lana, was there really anything so desperately pressing that we had to come down here immediately?” she asks instead, using the Force to pull the bean towards her as she moves her hands from Lana’s head.

Jezhara, having had her fun spoiled, saunters loftily over to a nearby chair. “It’s amusing to cockblock heterosexuals,” she says.

“Jezhara!” Lana says, her face going red instantly.

Theron sticks his head out of the cupboard he’d been rummaging around in; there are multiple beans in his hair, and Lieca does her best not to laugh. “Uh, yeah, not straight?” he says, raising his hand as if in class. “So I call foul play.”

“ _Theron_ ,” Lieca splutters, blushing as well at the realisation that he as good as admitted to them being late because of sex.

Lana, her face still bright red, turns to Lieca with the precise sort of efficiency she’s come to expect from her. “We’ve finished compiling our analysis of the destruction of the Alderaanian Star Fortress, and combined with the schematic data that Calli was able to provide for us earlier, we’ve isolated further targets and sent strike teams in.” She passes her a datapad. “I thought you’d be pleased to hear that the very first target has been successfully dealt with.”

“That’s wonderful news!” she says, taking the datapad and skimming the first few lines. Her heart leaps into her throat. “Balmorra? Is Felix-”

Lana holds up a hand to interrupt her. “There were no reported casualties planetside, and Captain Iresso was not a member of the strike team. I imagine he’s desperate for a reunion with Flissa, however.”

“Then who...” She keeps reading, and a smile breaks out over her face. “Tal,” she breathes happily.

“Jedi Master Tal’Nerra was our closest contact in the region, and he had the assistance of the Balmorran government in assembling the strike team. We had confirmation of target neutralisation about an hour ago.”

Lieca closes her eyes for a moment, quite overwhelmed with emotion. Tal’Nerra had been the unfortunate ‘older brother’ Jedi Knight assigned to chaperone herself and Cera when they left Tython, as neither of their Masters was free to join them and they needed someone there to help them out, to guide them and teach them and keep them out of trouble. It wasn’t uncommon for younger Knights to be tasked with the role of chaperone for padawans and newly titled Knights, not quite acting in the role of Master, but certainly earning valuable experience in preparation for taking their own padawans. He had stayed for sometime after Kira had joined up with them as well, exasperated constantly by the shenanigans the three of them managed to get themselves into. He was only a few years older than the twins, and balanced them both out rather well - and had been invaluable to Cera and Kira while Lieca was recovering from the after-effects of the shielding technique.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and when she opens her eyes, she realises she has tears on her cheeks. “Liss?” Theron asks quietly, brow crinkled with concern.

Lieca smiles in reassurance, wiping quickly at her face. “I’m glad to see everyone else appreciates Tal as we do,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. The twi’lek had been another friend she had thought lost to her time in carbonite, and she feels immensely cheered at the knowledge he has been here all along. _Take that, you_ , she thinks victoriously, mentally adding another tally to the board of points she’s earning against Valkorian.

Jezhara sniffs disdainfully, drawing her attention again. “He is an adequate sparring partner, if nothing else,” she acknowledges sourly. However, when Lieca looks at her, she winks ever so slightly, a smirk dancing on her lips.

Theron squeezes her shoulder, and she smiles at him absently, reaching up to recover the wayward caf beans from his hair. “Is... is he coming here?” she asks, not daring to hope. Everything has been going so well lately, it just seems like something is going to disappoint her sooner rather than later.

Lana rolls her her neck for a few moments before looking down at her datapad. “He is, yes - as are Clan Cadera, who I have no idea where to house, by the way.”

“Put a single tent out in the field, and tell them only the greatest warrior is entitled to it,” Jezhara says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “They’ll work the rest out.”

Staring at her wife flatly, Lana continues “And in other news, Cera and Calli have confirmed that they have taken the-”

“Wait!” Lieca habitually glances towards the ceiling. “Holiday?”

It takes a moment for a response, but after a few long seconds the projector on the nearest counter flickers to life, and the familiar pink outline of a holographic woman appears. Holiday looks increasingly tired, if that sort of thing is possible for a hologram. “Lieca!” she says, hands clasped together as if smitten with her. “Oh, I’m so sorry, SCORPIO has just been so _rude_ lately, I’m all over the place! I must look a sight!”

Lieca wonders for a moment if it actually requires more of her runtime to appear frazzled and rundown, because surely an actual representation of her weariness would be less refined features, or no features at all. She wonders if it’s an affectation, if she’s picked it up from the humans she spends so much time with, or whether it’s truly the best representation of who she is. “Honey, are you alright?”

Holiday nods, beaming; as if aware of her thoughts, some of the creases vanish from her skirts. “Of course! Just needed a moment to compose myself - you can’t take a lady by surprise like that.” She giggles behind her hand. “What can I do for you?”

She’s not entirely convinced by the facade, but decides to trust her. “Can you please secure this room for a short while? I need to talk to Lana about something important.”

Holiday nods fervently, pulling her ever-present datapad from her hip pocket. “And... done! All secure, sugar. Let me know if there’s anything else!” she calls cheerfully, blowing a kiss before vanishing.

Lana eyes the room. “May I speak now?” she asks.

Lieca pouts. “You’re the one telling me we need to use caution all the time,” she says.

Lana huffs. “Cera and Calli appear to have arrived on Alderaan with no complications, though the GEMINI droid so far seems un-cooperative, and Calli has not been willing to risk re-activating it in case it is capable of being traced.”

“Smart move,” Theron says, his words garbled around a mouthful of donut. When the three women just stare at him, he says “What? It’s what I’d do.”

“Where did you even get the donut, Shan?” Jezhara says.

“I had it in my pocket!”

Lana puts a hand up to her forehead. “I am surrounded by simpletons,” she says softly.

“Theron,” Lieca says, “you didn’t have the donut in your pocket when we, um...” At his guilty look, she feels her face heat in equal parts horror and mortification. “ _Theron_!”

“I’m going to be sick,” Jezhara announces grandly.

“T7 and Bowdaar arrived from Zakuul yesterday,” Lana says loudly, as if desperate to drag them back on topic, “and I sent them to assist - ideally, we would send Holiday as a counter, but between her duties on Odessen and her work in the Gravestone, she’s stretched dangerously thin. T7’s assistance will be invaluable in containing the GEMINI unit should they proceed with attempts to reactivate it.”

Lieca clears her throat, throwing a dirty look at Theron, who still has the donut stuffed in his mouth. “What’s wrong with bringing it back to Odessen?” she asks. “Then we could have Holiday _and_ T7, as well as any number of technical staff available like Doctor Oggurobb and his team.”

“Because nothing screams bad idea like bringing a piece of alien, enemy technology into the middle of our secret lair with only vague assurances that it won’t turn into a giant, glaring beacon summoning Zakuul to our doorstep,” Jezhara says dryly.

Pausing to digest that image, Lieca finally sighs. “You might have a point there,” she concedes.

“The point is,” Lana says, shooting a look at Jezhara, “that we’ve recently liberated Alderaan from the tyranny of Zakuul, and the local ruling families are eager to assist us in whatever manner possible - and that’s before we take into consideration your own ties to the planet. Alderaan is a comfortably neutral planet, currently unsupervised by Zakuul, and we must take advantage of that while we can.”

“Which brings us to our rather exciting, final piece of news,” Jezhara says, but she is interrupted by the appearance of a protocol droid bearing a rather alarmingly enormous tray of sandwiches. She’ll have to speak to C2 about the somewhat overbearing nature of the catering, especially when they’re trying to maintain a sensible sort of rationing system as the base keeps growing. Theron brings her a sandwich, all while trying to stuff one into his mouth, and she kisses him wryly on the cheek in thanks.

They all take a moment to enjoy their food before Lana coughs into her hand, setting down her own half-eaten sandwich on a napkin. “As I was saying,” she says, covering her mouth with her fingertips as she swallows the last of the mouthful, “we would be wise to take advantage of Alderaan’s eagerness to accommodate us. To summarise, we are not the only alliance forming against Zakuul, and I think it is in our best interest to try to establish common ground. Alderaan represents a neutral meeting point, and we _must_ utilise it while we can.”

Intrigued, she jumps slightly at Theron’s hand on her hip to draw her attention. “We’ve been seeing a lot of chatter from underground contacts about the various resistances in place against Zakuul - obviously some, like Chobo and his team, have been of significant help to us,” he says, smiling softly at her. “But these teams are more local, keeping to their own homeworlds. We need something on a significantly larger scale.”

Lana nods. “And we found one. There’s an alliance between Imperial, Republic, and Zakuulan factions that has apparently been searching for us. They’ve made contact, and I think you’ll want to speak to them.”

Lieca takes the datapad Theron passes over her, smiling at the way his fingers linger for a moment. “Alright, who do we know?”

The display in the corner flickers to show an older woman, unfamiliar to Lieca. Lana waves at her. “Malita Tal - she’s a Zakuulan holo-performer, quite popular on their homeworld. She was exiled for publicly questioning and criticizing Arcann’s rule, though her family remains on Zakuul. I believe her daughter was in attendance at the gala the night you escaped Arcann’s prison, though we don’t know if she was technically a guest or a prisoner.”

Jezhara steps forward as the screen flickers to show the next person. “Zasha Ranken, Imperial Admiral,” she says succinctly. “One of the only experienced officers remaining in the Empire to have outlasted Arcann’s rule. I am not at all surprised to find her involved with this rebellion.”

Theron raises an eyebrow. “What about Quinn?”

Jezhara doesn't even blink. “My point stands,” she says crossly. “Quinn is a satisfactory officer, but he works for _me_ and not the Empire.”

Lieca sighs. “I feel as though I am trying to help the Rift Alliance all over again,” she notes in amusement, trying to draw Theron and Jezhara’s attention away from each other.

Theron catches her eye again, almost smirking now. “Convenient, that, considering number three - Tai Cordan, Republic Senator for Balmorra,” he continues, sounding smug. “I believe you are already acquainted.”

Her eyes widen. “Tai’s in on this?” she says delightedly. “That’s wonderful!”

Lana smiles. “Considering your enthusiasm on the subject, it’s no surprise they specifically want to talk to you. They do not know our exact location as yet, and despite our common goals, I am hesitant to hand out the coordinates to Odessen so easily. They wish to arrange a meeting to speak with you, and I think, given my previous comments, that Alderaan would be the ideal location for such a meeting.”

Jezhara snorts into her mug. “Alderaan is technically a Republic world,” she says in a singsong voice, “and she is obviously already biased towards the Republic contingent, so technically that’s the opposite of neutral.”

Lana looks like she’s doing her best not to roll her eyes. “ _Darling_ ,” she says pointedly, but Lieca steps in.

“I did not let my personal feelings interfere with my goals when forming the Rift Alliance and I will not do so now,” she says crossly. “I am a diplomat, and it is my duty to listen to all sides - and I do not appreciate the insinuation that I would unfairly raise one party above the other.”

Jezhara stares at her but she refuses to back down, still indignant. “Just because you-”

Theron hastily catches her arm. “Sweetheart, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “We can argue about who’s more neutral than who later.”

Jezhara mouths silently ‘ _I am_ ’ as she moves back to Lana’s side with a smirk.

Lieca raises her chin defiantly. “Lana, I am almost fully healed, I just need to take things slow,” she says. “Alderaan is my home, and diplomacy is what I excel at. Dia’ayla is heading back home today, she’s on duty next week in the clinic, and we know she would not leave if she thought there was still a problem-”

Lana puts her hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I can tell when I’m on the losing side of a debate.”

“I will be _fine_. I _promise_.”

Theron’s hand temporarily tightens on her arm. “Do, uh, do I get a say in the matter?” he asks.

“Well, you’ll come with me, of course,” she says sweetly. As he blinks in surprise, she laughs. “Surely you didn’t think I’d just leave you here? Especially when we could treat this as an opportunity for a little vacation with the family?”

He looks stunned. “I, uh - me? On a family vacation?”

“Of course,” she says, winding her arms around his neck. “We can take Flissa - oh! And if it’s safe for them to leave Balmorra now, then Felix can come along too. Flissa will be so excited to see her father, and to visit our family home!”

“Mm,” he says, looking pained, “because there’s nothing more fun than spending quality time with your girlfriend’s ex.”

She scowls at him. “Behave,” she scolds, turning back to Lana. “You’d be alright without us for a while, right?”

Lana smiles faintly. “Far be for it for me to deny Flissa what she wants,” she says dryly. “You should be fine to have a bit of a break with the family. You certainly deserve it, and we can run things here no problem.”

Jezhara nods, inspecting her nails. “We only did it for five years darling, I’m sure we can manage for a few more weeks.”

Lieca winces. “I do not mean to imply that you are incapable Jezhara, I just…”

The Sith Lord waves her off, but there’s a tiny smile on her face. “I know,” she says loftily, “you’re just _so_ diplomatic.”

Lana looks amused, shaking her head fondly. “And you will be able to keep your family close by without having to cut your time with them too short, and not have to worry about making other travel arrangements,” she says before smiling wryly. “I would recommend not using your family estates for the actual delegates, though.”

Lieca claps her hands, her scheming rapidly falling into place. “Wonderful! Well then, we should all get ready so that we can leave soon - or did you want to all travel separately?”

Both women freeze; Jezhara stares at her. “What?” she asks flatly.

She beams at her, biting back the fierce desire to cackle. “Well, I can’t expect to be _truly neutral_ with just myself and my dreadfully inappropriate Republic ties, now, can I?” she says cheerfully. “Naturally, with your concern earlier, you would be willing to accompany me to represent an Imperial perspective?”

Jezhara keeps staring at her and her wife hides a smile. Lieca then makes a show of starting to tick things off on her fingers. “In fact, if Cera is there with me as well, we would need both yourself _and_ Lana to be considered truly fair and _neutral_. Oh! And of course, we’ll need to provide a balanced perspective for the Zakuulans, so obviously the Zakuulan contingent for Malita should be Senya and Thexan. For neutrality.”

She taps her chin, feigning deep thought. “And, of course, that’s unfairly representing Force users, so we would need representatives from the non-Force-using factions to be truly considerate of all factions. Theron darling - could you contact Vitalia and Jonas to see if they are willing to show as current SIS representatives? If it’s on Alderaan, I can ask Saria and Vector to represent Sith Intelligence, and Koth would of course represent Zakuul.”

Theron nods, smirking as he picks up on her game. “I’ll see what I can do - I mean, it’s super important that we do our best to create a level playing field, no obvious advantages, no favouritism. Easier to maintain neutrality that way, too.” He mimics her chin tapping, appearing to think carefully as Jezhara silently fumes opposite them. “I mean, obviously Cordan already knows I’m not with the SIS anymore and I imagine Ranken would too, so they know I’m not really capable of being a neutral party.”

“Haha, you’re both _so_ funny-”

“Oh, and then we’ll need to make sure we can find somewhere where everyone will be comfortable, can’t maintain neutrality if things aren’t comfortable, and I’m sure everything will go smoothly!”

Lana has done a magnificent job of not laughing, but from the tight set to her jaw, it seems to be a close thing. “Are you sure you want so many of us there?” she asked, the words clipped as if she’s fighting not to burst into fits of laughter. “You were just going to have a family holiday, after all.”

Lieca sighs dramatically. “I know, but we can’t just expect everyone else to put their lives and this war on hold while we have strive for neutrality,” she says sadly.

“Okay, Amell, I get it!”

She and Theron glance at each other, and burst out laughing, leaning against each other while tears run down their cheeks. Eventually, Lieca manages to get hold of herself, wheezing as she wipes her face clear. “The children will be fine,” she says, once she can speak again. “I don’t want to leave them on Odessen while so many of us are away, anyway. We can leave them at the estates while we meet this other alliance.” She smiles fondly. “T7 and Bowdaar will happily watch the kids if we don’t have enough adults left behind, and obviously Ona’la and Raj will be coming along with their spouses too.”

Lana nods. “Alright. We’ll make the necessary arrangements then.”

 

* * *

 

Arcann scowls, tapping his fingers restlessly on the arm of the throne. Since the discovery that the Alliance had captured the GEMINI droid on Darvannis, he has been constantly on edge, waiting for their retaliation. He has been watching the actions of the fleet almost obsessively, trying desperately to discern the effect of the Alliance’s control.

He had previously thought the defences over the GEMINI droids to be impenetrable, but he is quickly learning not to underestimate Calli. Therefore he is running with the assumption that she is capable of somehow deceiving the droid and taking command of the Fleet and… for what purpose even?

It doesn’t matter. He has ceased all commands to the Fleet, and is simply waiting for any outliers that would prove where the Alliance has struck. It is only a matter of time before his persistence pays off.

He ignores the little voice in the back of his mind that points out that he may already be too late, and that the Fleet may have turned on him as a whole so that he does not notice the change.

He quashes that persistent voice by ordering random ships of the Fleet to move as directed, choosing singular ships and bizarre directions and making himself utterly unpredictable, tracking their movements with such focus that he has had a massive headache all day as a result. His situation was possibly not helped by the minimal food he has eaten, but he has been in the throne room most of the day. How is he supposed to eat when he will not remove his mask in front of his people?

As though to mock him, Vaylin wanders over to him, holding some sort of pastry in her hands. The smell is filtered through his mask and identified as the maple syrup from Alderaan that she likes so much. He wishes the thought of that planet did not make him think of Calli. He had discovered that it was technically her home planet despite her lack of current ties to it - well, lack of ties that he could discover.

He wishes he could escape his home planet so easily.

Vaylin brings his thoughts back to the present by offering him the box she’s carrying. “Donut?” she asks cheerfully.

The box _does_ smell good, although the sweet smell seems a little sickly to his empty stomach. He does not understand her fascination with foreign sweets. “No thank you,” he says crossly.

She shrugs. “Fine, more for me.”

To his surprise she actually sits down on the ground next to the throne, apparently content to eat the entire box of said donuts. When she sees him staring, she waves one at him. “They’re really goooood,” she says, her tone almost taunting.

He scowls, ignoring the rumble of his stomach. “Then I hope you enjoy them,” he says through gritted teeth.

They sit in silence for another few minutes, Vaylin munching away on her pastries while he tries to ignore her. He notices that his fingers are tapping away on the throne a little angrier as she starts to get to him, and forces himself to relax and not give away so obvious a sign of his annoyance.

Eventually Vaylin sighs. “Arcann?” she starts.

He doesn’t look up from his work. “Yes?” She doesn’t say anything else and he twitches with irritation. “Vaylin?”

She sighs again. “Are you going to eat something, or am I dragging you to the kitchens?”

He flinches. “What?”

She scowls, staring straight ahead. “You haven’t eaten today, and you’re being _dumb_ ,” she says petulantly. “You have all the food here, and you’re just being rude by not eating it.”

He ignores her.

Her voice when she speaks again is hollow. “Aww, I wish _I_ had always had the choice to just not eat.” 

He winces despite himself. He _knows_ why Vaylin always has some sort of snack on her person, as much as he tries not to think about it. “Vaylin…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snaps. “Now you’re being childish. Go eat something. Since you’re so weird about the mask and won’t take it off in front of people.”

He glares at her and she shrugs. “Some people don’t care about scars,” she says carelessly, and he finally notices her sleeves are pushed up today to reveal the patchwork of tattoos and scars up to her elbows. “Stop worrying about yours.”

At his lack of response she huffs and starts munching on another donut. “I mean, of course, you look ridiculous anyway. All cranky and broody and glowing eyes. Scars are the least of your problems.”

He goes quiet for a moment, not looking at her as he speaks again. “Why did you keep yours?” he asks quietly.

Vaylin stills, not even munching sounds, and he doesn’t look back. “Because,” she says shortly. “They are something that’s mine. Something I chose. Zakuul always wants people to just forget… I want to forget the rest. This I want to remember.”

He finally looks at her to see her watching him back, golden eyes narrowed curiously. “Why did you keep yours?” she asks at last.

He flinches rather than respond, and her expression softens. It’s not an expression he sees on her often. “Father ruins everything, doesn’t he?” she says sadly. “Wouldn’t even be happy you and Thexan conquered all those worlds. You two brought me back nice things, though. I was happy.”

He swallows. “And that is the most important part,” he says thickly. It doesn’t matter that why he kept his scars. It doesn’t matter that he wanted Father to see what he sacrificed, to show that he was prepared to do what was necessary. It doesn’t matter that he kept them after their return so that he would stop seeing Thexan’s face in the mirror. None of it matters anymore. And now it has been too long, and they are a part of him. His mistakes, his choices. Like Vaylin, he wants to forget why they are, but not why they are still here.

Vaylin carefully puts the box of donuts on the ground before bounding to her feet, a sudden font of energy. “Well! Food time!”

He stares at her in confusion as she starts to chase everyone else out of the room. “I’ll be back in just a minute!” she calls in a sing-song voice.

He grumbles but feels a pang in his heart for her concern, which he brushes aside instantly to go back to his reports. At his feet, the unattended box of donuts silently tempts him.

The Fleet doesn’t seem to be doing anything too unusual… except for one of the ships in the Core.

He frowns and magnifies the data stream for that particular ship. Normally he wouldn’t even notice a singular ship from the Fleet acting on its own, but with everything on such high alert… of course he spots it now.

What is it doing?

... above Alderaan?

 

* * *

 

Lieca sits neatly on the chair in the point of the circle of chairs in the meeting room, skirts neatly folded over themselves and hands held demurely in her lap while she listens to the room.

The meeting has been going well so far - other than a small mishap when Jezhara showed up in a drab outfit of soft brown and beige and haughtily declared herself a ‘ _neutral_ ’ party, and Cera’s ‘ _mum_ ’ glare was apparently testing whether it really was possible to kill someone using just her eyes.

Seeing Ranken pause at the sight of the former Emperor’s Wrath in swarthy robes instead of her usual armour had been rather amusing, though to her credit the older woman hid her reaction quite well. Malita Tal was all colour and life next to her stiff Imperial collaborator, the warm colours of her attire matching the twinkle in her eyes as she nods respectfully to Senya and deliberately avoids Thexan’s eye.

And then Tai entered the room and he looked almost the same as he did years ago and for a moment she was a girl again, a newly-minted Barsen’thor trying to tiptoe her way around a galaxy-altering alliance and trying to learn how to charm people for whom glib diplomacy and double-talk was second nature. She credits Tai and Tobias almost entirely for her skills, the two older men gently guiding her as she tried to help them all, a gift she would never be able to repay. She suddenly desperately misses the solid presence of dear Nadia’s father, but the warm smile on Tai’s face when he sees her helps her to push it aside.

It’s been awhile since Tai has turned his diplomatic aplomb on her, but this time she’s expecting it. He had obviously been elected as the spokesperson - either for his own skills or her own fondness for him, she couldn’t say. But the others deferred to him, as much as Ranken clearly chafes at some of the flowery speech.

Lieca is in her element, and not even Jezhara’s biting comments can reduce the sparkle in her eyes. Cera’s bluntness might have once cost them a point or two, but years as the virtual head of their Alliance have tempered her well. She is craftier now, more sly in her comments and observations, and between her and Lana they have even Ranken eating out of the palm of their hands within minutes.

Nothing can be made concrete as yet - despite Tai’s enthusiasm for contracts, causing Lana to laugh - but what they discuss is more than enough for now.

Tai has promised Balmorran battle droids, Zasha to join her ships to Moff Pyron’s fleet under Jahlia, and Malita had promised to speak with her Zakuulan high society allies. It is not simply the war now that they need to win - they need Zakuul to survive afterwards, and getting the business world and nobility on side will make everything smoother.

But that’s something she can pin down on another day with a less fragile alliance, though the knowing glint in Malita and Tai’s eyes indicates they already know what she’s planning. She hopes she can count on Tai to help her with the task ahead.

The official portion of the day complete, the room breaks for refreshments, and Lieca is able to steal Tai’s attention for a moment, while Saria and Vector corner Zasha; by the window, Malita is animatedly discussing Zakuulan politics with Lana.

Charming hostess is a role she knows well, and even though her friend might be playing neutral for the benefit of his current allies, after the last few hours she can read him well enough again to see exactly what he’s thinking. And to blush when he leans close to murmur congratulations to her over her and Theron’s rekindled relationship. Luckily, the conversation veers back to family after that, but she still can’t help the flushed sweet smile she gives Theron when she sees him watching her. Tai teases that she just keeps making it more obvious, and she swats his shoulder, pointedly pushing another of the tiny cakes he likes onto his plate.

And then Vector and Jonas lead their esteemed guests from the room, and Saria and Vitalia immediately start arguing over the intelligence their respective agencies have collected and agreed to share, shortly joined by their partners when they return.

She stays quiet to let them brainstorm, hastily stepping in when Cera and Jezhara almost come to blows, and tries not to let her amusement at Calli’s obvious boredom show as she starts subtly hacking the display in the centre of the room.

Lana is holding her face in her hands long before Geralt saunters into the room, and she reaches over to rub her back sympathetically at her groan.

And then the conversation turns to their long term goals and what they want to do about Arcann and she can no longer stay out of this one, even if it puts her at odds against her friends.

He deserves a chance, doesn’t he?

 

* * *

 

Calli rubs her forehead, trying for all the world to pretend she doesn’t want to just reach out and slap the next speaker. Lieca might have the best intentions, bringing such an eclectic group of individuals together for an alliance, but _honestly_. This is fucking _ridiculous_.

The meeting with Cordan, Ranken and Tal had gone surprisingly well, though. Lieca was her sweet charming self, obviously trying not to favour Cordan but clearly most comfortable with him. The discovery that Malita Tal’s daughter was one of the women she had attempted to seduce at the party in the Spire had been a connection she had certainly not been expecting - especially the part where the younger woman even remembered her to start with.

But ugh. _Ugh_. Too many people and too much talking and fake smiles and double-talk that she can’t quite wrap her head around. And if she hears Geralt deliberately provoke Theron about his slicing technique one more time she is going to start throwing things at them. Or lock them in a room somewhere. One or the other.

She does find it vaguely amusing how Theron seems far more attentive towards Lieca since she and Cordan had spoken. Obviously nothing was going to happen there - her sister seems weirdly enamoured of the ex-spy, for stars know what reason - but it was still kinda funny to watch Theron’s expressions as the two old friends spoke. _Ha_!

Hyllus has been doing his best to help Lieca corral the crowd of misfits into behaving, but his smooth low voice is better suited for calmer situations over the chaos of the room. His Chiss wife has spent most of the time arguing with Jonas and Vitalia, all three of them fairly ruffled up over the perceived insults to their various organisations and the alleged follies of their opposing factions.

And inevitably the tide of the room turns towards how to deal with Arcann, and she really wishes she would stop flinching at his name. Lieca’s eyes are pools of sympathy, but she is quickly drowned out by Koth and Saria and Theron, and soundly defeated when even Cera steps against her, eyes sad but expression tight. Seeing the twins on opposite sides of a course of action shouldn’t scare her as much as it does, and she wraps her arms tight around herself. Senya is ramrod straight in her chair next to her and Raj keeps looking at her sympathetically as his husband and Saria argue with Lana.

It takes her a good few minutes to realise that Thexan is missing from the room, and she frowns as she tries to figure out which way he might have gone. Ona’la was still with the children, back at the family estates, and she doesn’t really like the thought of him being alone now. They might not really be friends or anything, but still... hearing all this about his brother, who he obviously still cares about, couldn’t be easy.

Besides, it’ll get her away from the idiots still arguing. She almost wishes she was also back with the kids - at least Bowdaar was there too. She waits until Geralt’s back is turned, and quickly slips out of the room.

“Now, if I was a broody ex-prince, where would I go?” she mutters to herself. Her first instinct would be to get away, but she feels that Thexan is probably more the type to seek the familiar.

And in this estate that House Organa has allowed them to use, the only familiar place would be his room. She huffs and turns on her heel to head to the living quarters assigned to them yesterday, trying to remember which one belongs to Thexan.

She is unsurprised to find it is the only shut door. “Thexan!” she calls, feeling ridiculous. “Are you in there?”

There's no response for a good while, and she's just about to go when he answers. “The door's open,” he calls, sounding a little dull despite his volume.

She squares her shoulders and stalks into the room, momentarily startled that she can't see him until she hears him again. “Out here.”

She twists around to see him standing out on the balcony, leaning on the railing, and slowly follows him out. “Thexan?” she asks uncertainly.

He doesn't move. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I just… I needed to be alone for a moment.”

She shrugs, stepping up behind him and feeling awkward. “Understandable.” There's another long silence. “Are you… okay?” she asks.

He huffs a laugh. “They're talking about killing my brother downstairs,” he says brokenly. “So not really, no.”

She winces and steps closer so she’s standing next to him, looking out at the horizon rather than him so she doesn't spook him off. The view is lovely, the rolling green hills and the distant mountains, the smell of pine and snow in the air. “If it helps, you know Lieca won't, right?” She feels him look at her, but she keeps staring straight ahead. “She won't let the others either. Even if they want to - they won't. They need to figure out how to break that weird Force bond first so they don't hurt her too.”

Thexan makes a noise as though he's been punched in the gut, and she turns her head to see him staring at her. “What?” he asks hoarsely.

Honestly, why is he so tall - it's a little disconcerting to have those pale eyes staring down at her.

She flushes with embarrassment at his scrutiny, taking a half-step back. “What what?”

He doesn't really stop looming, but it seems to be unintentional. “What did you say about a Force bond?” he says, voice hard, and he steps closer.

She frowns, and pushes on his chest. “Okay, first of all, personal space bubble,” she says testily, shoving him off balance for a moment. “They really didn't teach you guys manners, did they?”

He stares at her, eyes wide and unblinking, and she slowly frowns, confused at his anger. “And I _meant_ about that weird Force bond Lieca has with your brother, you know,” she continues crossly. Thexan’s expression tightens and comprehension slams into her like a Hammerhead; she closes her eyes in horror. “And you didn't know about that.”

He laughs again, the sound bitter and hollow. “No, why would I know that? I’m not the one who's bond he’s suppressing or anything,” he says, and the miserable sadness in his voice makes her chest ache.

She winces. “Apparently it formed sometime after Asylum? I don’t really understand these things, this is weird Force magic crap. And… you know Lieca wouldn't have kept it from you deliberately,” she says quietly. “Or like, if she did, it was for a reason. She’s a bleeding heart like your wife - if she thought it would hurt you…”

Thexan frowns and she rolls her eyes. “Not all of us have super-powered Jedi to watch over us alright? Be more grateful.”

Thexan actually laughs honestly at that, breaking through his melancholy, and she narrows her eyes at him. “What?”

“Says the woman whose sister had to be held back from singlehandedly storming the Spire when they thought she was in danger,” he says smugly. “What's that phrase Risha uses….I’m a caf maker and you're a teapot?”

She stares at him blankly for a moment before bursting out laughing, and his expression quickly shifts back to annoyance. “What?”

She’s still giggling as she rests her hands on the bannister, wiping tears from her eyes. “Teapot,” is all she can say before she dissolves into giggles again.

It’s not even that funny, but she’s nervous and stressed and that fucking GEMINI droid is lurking around somewhere (okay fine, it can’t lurk when it’s deactivated but it _feels_ like it’s lurking) and she already kicked it twice. And Thexan’s annoyed face is _hilarious_.

He’s also flushed an angry red in his embarrassment, and she tries to calm down as she sees it. “Is that not right?” he says crossly, folding his arms.

She snorts, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “It’s close,” she says, still giggling. “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s really not that funny, but it kinda is.”

His ears are even red now. “I don’t understand your sayings,” he says grumpily. “And don’t pretend you don’t understand the point, you are being difficult on purpose.”

She nods, reaching out to squeeze his arm and remembering too late he dislikes sudden touching when he flinches. She smiles apologetically, pulling her hand back immediately. “Sorry. And only a little bit.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, long enough for the red to fade from his face, before she speaks again. “I was serious though.”

“What, about teapots?”

She snorts. “No! About Lieca,” she says, sombering again. “You know that even if everyone else disagrees with her, she won’t hurt your brother, right? Especially if you ask her not to.”

Thexan’s mouth thins out. “I think that your allies are far less forgiving than you think.”

She gives him a flat look. “Look, have you _met_ my sister? The only one who has a chance in Corellia’s seven hells of stopping her is Cera, and despite her tough talk she’s almost the same. She just doesn’t want Lieca to sacrifice herself, _again_.”

She shivers. “Besides, the odds of Lieca being allowed to go into combat with your brother again are pretty much zilch. It’s not really her thing you know? It’s all hypotheticals and people getting worked up because they’re stuck together and want to show each other up.”

“That’s... not very comforting. But I appreciate the gesture.”

She ducks her head in embarrassment. “Yeah, you’re welcome. Do you need a hug?”

He gives her a weird look. “Is this going to be one of the times where I have no say in the matter?”

She shifts her hands to her hips. “Thexan, do you want a hug? If you don’t say no I’m going to hug you.”

He scowls. “I am perfectly fine without-”

She moves forward to hug him anyway, squishing her face into his shoulder. It’s definitely weirder hugging him when they’re not sitting on the ground, he’s so much taller than her.

The sudden flash of unwanted memory is enough to make her jump back though, awkwardly trying to cover the movement by checking on her blasters. “There!” she squeaks, hoping the fall of her hair is enough to hide the way her cheeks are flaming. “Hugged. And no one died or anything. You see, everything will be fine.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I do not think that ‘ _everything will be fine_ ’ really applies to a situation where it is my brother versus the entire rest of the galaxy-”

“Thexan you’re really not good at this whole ‘ _being comforted_ ’ thing are you? _Everything will be fine_.”

As though the universe had been _waiting_ for the opportunity to prove her wrong, like the fucking bastard it is, her datapad immediately starts beeping shrilly. As does both of their holocoms.

Thexan’s expression is dry enough that she’s surprised the lake in the distance doesn’t evaporate on the spot. “I believe this is what they call supreme irony,” he says, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Neither of them is really expecting Cera’s harried face to appear in Calli’s comm though. _“Calli! I don’t care where you are, get back here immediately!”_

“Cera, calm the fuck down, I’m just in the guest quarters-”

_“Arcann’s flagship is here. On Alderaan. The place where we also are. That is a problem. That just might constitute an emergency you know? GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT.”_

The comm cuts out again and both Calli and Thexan stare at it for a few moments before Thexan suddenly lets loose an extremely long-winded and exceptionally profane description of their current circumstances in Zakuulan.

She’s rather impressed at the breadth of his vocabulary and his surprisingly eloquent turn of phrasing, and politely waits for him to finish while she tries to calm her own racing heart. “Thexan,” she says hoarsely, aware that her voice is shaking but unable to stop it, “you know I speak Zakuulan, right? I lived there for three years, I know what you just said. Also, fucking triple that shit.”

Thexan’s ears go red again and she tries to concentrate on teasing him rather than the blind panic rising in her throat.

What the fuck is she going to do now?


	22. Delicate Negotiations

To say the atmosphere in the conference hall is terse is an extreme understatement; the stress and the anger and the silently building hysteria batters at her through the Force, and that’s even before she’s allowed to feel any of it herself. Lieca rubs at her forehead, already feeling a headache building, and as Cera turns back to her from hanging up on Calli, the look on her face makes her stomach sink anew. “Don’t, Cera,” she says quietly, trying to to ignore the hiss of the door behind them; she glances backwards, in time to see Vector and their new allies rushing back in, varying degrees of concern on their faces at the alarms going off.

Cera snorts bitterly. “Don’t what, Liss?”

“You’re going to say ‘ _I told you so_ ’-”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’d never be that predictable. Even if I did fucking tell you so.”

“He’s not firing,” she says desperately, as her personal comm beeps, and she fumbles to draw it from her pocket.

“Oh good, he meets the absolute minimum for being a tolerable human being- not trying to murder us immediately.” Cera’s flat look makes her wince. “Get higher standards, Liss. This is exactly the sort of attitude that nearly gets you killed saving idiots, _damnit_.”

She scowls at her, trying to hide the way her hands are shaking as she clicks on the display; Holiday appears in the palm of her hand, a surprise in itself. “Holiday?” she asks in confusion. “Honey, what is it? Is something wrong on Odessen?”

The pink hologram is clearly distraught, nearly wailing. “Lieca!” she calls, and her lack of endearment worries her more than she can say.

She exchanges a glance with Cera, neither of them needing to speak to acknowledge the ripple of warning down their backs, like a drop of ice water running down her spine. “Holiday?”

Holiday is all but wringing her hands in grief, her hair a mess and obvious tear tracks down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Cera’s frown deepens as she nudges in closer to Lieca, shielding the call from the rest of the room. “What is it, what’s wrong? Is the base under attack?”

Holiday sniffs. “SCORPIO, she… she’s _gone_.”

Lieca feels the surge of hope from Cera, and she shakes her head before she can even ask the question. “It's definitely Arcann,” she says quietly. “I can sense him.”

Cera swears under her breath.

“I was watching her,” Holiday continues tearfully, “or, I mean, I was trying to, but I had so much else to do, and I was trying to keep you all safe and shielded too-”

Lieca closes her eyes. “Holiday,” she says mournfully, “you know we don't want you overextending yourself like that. It'll corrupt your data files.”

“SCORPIO, what's going on with SCORPIO,” Cera said impatiently.

“She was tripping malware alerts all over the place, and I should have known it was too clumsy for her, but I was too distracted and I had to stop her from hacking our supply lines, and once I realised she was trying to distract me, it was too late, she was gone and I couldn't find her, I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop her!” she wails in seemingly one long breath.

Lieca glances over her shoulder, and there's more than one pair of eyes watching her apprehensively.“Holiday, sweetie, could you lower your volume a little?”

She sniffs. “I’ve been so busy and there’s been so much happening and she tried to counter-hack me! _Me_! Can you imagine the nerve!”

“ _Holiday_ ,” Cera says warningly from between gritted teeth.

“I don't know where she's gone- I was hoping...” She visibly cringes. “- that maybe she'd left with you?”

Lieca closes her eyes again, the weight of inevitability pressing down on her. _What could possibly go wrong_ , she'd thought, only a few days ago. She hadn't realised the galaxy would take that wayward thought as a challenge.

“Are you _sure_ it's Arcann?” Cera says urgently under her breath, keeping her face turned away from the rest of the gathering. “Maybe it's SCORPIO, maybe she's stolen both ships-”

“Cera,” she says miserably, opening her eyes and trying not to flinch at the angry frustration in her sister’s eyes. “If it was me up there, you'd know immediately, right? So why are you questioning me?”

Cera’s eyes hardened. “I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear you compare me to that asshole,” she says stiffly.

She sighs. “Cera-”

“You can't win every war with words, Lieca,” she says, stepping away from her. “Sometimes you can only win by going to war. Damn it all Lieca, our _kids_ are here.”

“Is there something of more pressing importance than the warship in orbit, ladies?” Admiral Ranken calls tersely. “Forgive me, but if we are to plan a sufficient defence, standing around talking isn't really the best place to start.”

Cera’s lips are a thin line of displeasure as she turns back to the assembly. “My apologies, Admiral,” she said coldly, with all the lofty command that had seen her elevated to the position of Battlemaster before the Order had all but collapsed. “We were conferring with our allies on Odessen for more up to the minute information.”

Lieca’s hands are over her face as she tries to muster the courage to face the rising anger in the room, and she jumps slightly when she feels a warm pair of hands on her shoulders, grounding her and bringing her back to focus. _Theron_. His warmth presses up behind her, a comforting anchor in all the panic, and it takes everything she has not to just turn and hide her face against his chest.

“Lieca?” She blinks and looks down; the holo is still active in her palm, and Holiday looks utterly distraught. “Oh, Lieca, sweetheart, I’m so sorry-”

She can feel herself sinking into panic, but Holiday’s distress gives her something to focus on. She can set aside her own misery easily when it means she has someone else to look after. “Oh honey, no. We- we asked too much of you. You’ve been so fantastic, we would not have had a chance without you.”

Holiday looks miserable. “But SCORPIO knows where you are now-”

“It’s alright, she’s not a concern. It’s only Arcann here right now, and he’s not attacking.”

She hears Koth swearing, and she and Theron both turn to see him leap out of his chair like there’s a nest of fire wasps under his pants. _No, no no..._ “Koth?”

His fingers are stabbing onto the keys of his datapad so ferociously that it’s a wonder he doesn’t just break the screen, and as she watches, Admiral Ranken and Senator Cordan also reach for their pockets as their holos start beeping shrilly. Raj slinks up behind Koth and glances over his shoulder, and his eyes go wide with fear. “Vortena,” Cera snaps, apparently at the end of her patience.

Koth swallows. “Uh, guys? The Gravestone’s scanners just lit up like Esne’s fireworks and I think we’ve got a serious problem.”

Raj sounds incredibly small as he speaks as well. “That is… oh. Oh dear.”

The room is deathly silent as Ranken and Cordan read the reports coming through on their private channels too, and she can’t breathe. And she realises it’s because she can feel what they can’t physically see, the psychic weight of it pressing down on her until she’s sure it’s going to crush her. All of her hope for this meeting, all of her optimism...

All for nothing.

She makes eye contact with her sister, desperate for that moment of connection even knowing the anger and worry burning in her. Cera holds her gaze, and she knows without a shred of doubt that Cera has made up her mind about what needs to happen today. She can almost feel the words, burning into her through their shared link.

_He won’t get a chance to hurt you this time._

Cera looks away first, and it breaks her heart.

Before Ranken or Cordan or even Koth have the opportunity to say it, Cera clears her throat. “The Eternal Fleet is here,” she says crisply, in a voice used to giving orders and being obeyed instantly. “It appears the Emperor did not come with peaceful intentions.”

The room explodes with activity, as the other members of their new Alliance surge to their feet, everyone talking at once and she can’t _breathe_. There are a thousand voices in her head, all panicked and hysterical, and she realises if she looks out the window that she can see the vague grid outline of the Fleet hanging in the atmosphere, and if she can see it that means that everyone else in this hemisphere can see it. Every Alderaan man and woman and child, Force, _her own child is here_. She’s brought Flissa with her to this death trap, and she can feel Theron’s arms warm around her while Cera takes control of the room, her voice thunderous as she orders everyone into silence and defiantly stands toe to toe against Ranken and Senya.

The door slams open, and Calli and Thexan both tumble into the room, out of breath and red-faced as if they’d run there; they’re both wild-eyed and clearly anxious, with Calli’s eyes suspiciously red and her manner skittish. Her heart aches for them both, and she closes her eyes in guilty regret. She knew it can’t have been easy for the former prince, to hear what the others were saying, and she should have done something herself. She should have been more proactive in demanding the others show more consideration.

But he looks too much like his brother, even after all the years that have passed, and that shared connection hurts them both. She does not wish to burden him further with things he cannot change, and she does not wish to embarrass him by singling out his grief amongst the needs of the many. Besides, it was better that Calli comforted him. Her sister is kind and smart and strong, and better at getting to the heart of a matter than she is. Thexan would have been better off with her, anyway, although Calli’s miserable expression and tear-bright eyes make her hesitate.

She aches to go and comfort her.

“Will someone _please_ answer that damn holo,” Cera snarls, rounding on the holoconference table in the centre of the room. Geralt, being the closest to the control panel given that he’s sitting on the table, lunges for it and smacks the button, giving her a thumbs up as he does so. The lights over the table flicker briefly, and then the regal figure of Duke Organa materialises in the air, the holo image almost life sized.

“Master Amell,” he says, his voice booming out with scarcely contained fury, “would you care to explain why our airspace is currently being invaded?”

Lieca flinches, knowing that the question is probably directed at her, and knowing that as the diplomat of the party, she’s probably the one who should be answering, but she can’t, she just can’t. Thankfully, Cera seems to have given up all pretense of civility and has switched directly into fight mode, and she stalks forward to face the Duke. “I don’t appreciate you taking that tone with me, your Grace,” she snaps, hands on her hips, “especially not when you make it sound like we’ve done this deliberately-”

“I am not insinuating anything of the sort, Master Amell,” he said coldly. “But it has not escaped my notice that, mere hours after allowing you to conduct your political affairs in our territories, the Fleet appears as if in response to your presence here!”

“There were... unanticipated complications,” Cera says from between gritted teeth.

“You gave your word that your presence would not draw the wrath of Zakuul down upon my people!”

Cera closes her eyes, and Lieca can feel the frustration seething in her. “Your Grace,” she says carefully, the words clipped and hard. “I hate to point out the obvious, but as of yet, the Fleet has made no moves towards Alderaan. Emperor Arcann has made no demands, but he has not opened fire-”

“Am I supposed to take that as a reassurance?”

Cera turns to stare briefly at Lieca, and her eyes say ‘ _I told you so_ ’. “We gave our word that the people of Alderaan would not be harmed,” she says loudly, turning back to face the Duke, “and I mean to stand by my word.”

“I can make it easier for you- my invitation of safe harbour has been revoked. I want you and your people off of Alderaan in no less than three hours.”

“Your Grace, that’s hardly fair-”

“Fair has nothing to do with it, Master Amell- I must think first and foremost of my people.” He disconnects, and the silence that hangs in the aftermath is almost agonizing. Cera is staring at the far wall, and her fingers twitch at her side as if she’s fighting not to clench them into fists. Admiral Ranken is the first to risk speaking, clearing her throat pointedly. “I can make contact with House Thul,” she begins, but Jezhara makes a scoffing noise.

“Thul are ambitious, they aren’t suicidal,” she says. “They won’t want to run the risk of pissing off Zakuul anymore than Organa will.”

There are so many emotions swirling within her, and not all of them are her own; she’s grateful for Theron standing at her back, holding her up, because between Cera’s anger and Arcann’s panic-

 _Arcann_.

She swallows, and looks up to see her sister looking at her. “Cera,” she rasps, and Cera’s expression finally softens again as she steps in close. She sags against her, and Cera wraps her arms around her tightly, as if she’s afraid she’ll never get the chance to again. “He’s here, Cera.”

“I know, honey.”

“He’s frightened, I don’t understand-”

“I know,” Cera says again, and when Lieca pulls back enough to make eye contact, Cera grimaces in some approximation of a smile. “I’m getting bleedover,” she admits quietly. “Gotta say, not enjoying being party to his royal asshole’s panic attacks.”

Lieca laughs shakily. “He has to know we’re here,” she says, forehead pressed to her sister’s.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Cera says. Her laugh is just as shaky, and she grips her by the arms tight. “I’m really hoping that the bond goes both ways, and he’s getting some of your righteous do-gooder-ness and desperate need to hug.”

Lieca giggles, sniffling as she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “As though you’re any better.”

Cera grins with a flash of teeth that doesn’t quite hide the wild spark in her eyes before she turns to address the room at large. “Alright peoples!” she says loudly, clapping her hands together. “We can assume Arcann is here for us, and we’ve got three hours to work out a compromise that involves us not being thrown offworld. Ideas?”

Geralt’s grin is sly, but before he can say whatever no doubt crude thing he was thinking of, Koth speaks first. “Well, if he’s here for us, we need to stop him,” the ex-soldier says solemnly. “I’m not going to let him attack this world without a fight, and we do have the Gravestone.”

Lana frowns. “It’s not in Arcann’s nature to not attack immediately,” she says. “The Fleet has never appeared without immediately engaging, except on established patrol routes. Why change? Why now?”

“It would be unwise to provoke an assault when our enemy has made no hostile moves towards us,” says Vector, and she appreciates another voice of reason in the mass.

Jezhara shrugs, filing her nails. “Oh I don’t know, I’m always up for a little collateral damage on Republic worlds,” she says with a smirk.

Cera rounds on her instantly, as does damn near half the room. “Our children are on this world,” she snarls. “They might not be right here, but they are close enough that drawn out space combat is _not_ an option.”

Jezhara looks briefly ashamed. “It was just a suggestion,” she sulks. “My apologies.”

Lieca sees her chance. “Why don’t we just try talking to Arcann?” she says quickly.

“Agreed,” says Senya, just as quickly, as if she had also been waiting for the right moment as well. “We should use this chance while it lasts - it has not been in Arcann’s nature to act this way before, and there is a real opportunity here to achieve a different outcome.”

Thexan’s eyes are too wide in his face, and Calli is tense beside him as Cera turns back to her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea Lieca,” she starts, but Lieca cuts her off. Cera knows that he’s afraid too. She’s not sure what he could be afraid of, but it’s something they could use to press their fragile advantage and try to come to some sort of agreement.

“I think it is a good idea. He hasn’t fired on the world, he hasn’t ordered the Fleet to attack. Maybe he just wants to talk too. We should give him this chance.”

Theron’s arms are quickly around her again, tightening briefly. “Liss-”

Lana frowns. “Correct me if I am wrong, but last time you attempted to talk with him, he attacked you,” she says testily. “I am not so eager to throw you to the wolves again.”

Lieca concedes the point with a nod, moving one hand over Theron’s. “True, but that was due to extenuating circumstances. It was going well until Vaylin started attacking the city. I know that I was getting through to him until the situation escalated. And now I should be more in control of the situation were I to speak with Arcann again.”

She leaves unspoken the knowledge that Valkorion’s presence contributed significantly to Arcann’s emotional upheaval on Asylum and that he is far more contained now. Their new allies do not need to know about the time bomb in her own head.

Lana’s expression does not change. “I do not like the sound of that ‘ _should_ ’.”

Lieca frowns. “Forgive me Lana, but it is not as though any of us have much experience in dealing with the potential frustrations of malevolent possessive entities,” she says gently, studiously ignoring the blank look of confusion that Tai and Malita throw her way. “Besides, we do have the Gravestone. If it goes poorly, we are in the same position anyway. But at least we tried.”

Jezhara opens her mouth to speak but Cera cuts her off. “I do not like this plan either,” she says crossly. “I appreciate your desire to try to achieve peace with Zakuul, but I will not accept that level of risk to you again, sis. If you want to speak with Arcann, this time I am coming with you, and you do not have a chance in a Ralltiiran banking vault of stopping me.”

Geralt climbs onto his knees on the table, raising a hand. “Actually, I’ll have you know that I have robbed one of said vaults, and let me tell you, it was far easier than-”

Cera makes a rude gesture over her shoulder and Geralt stops talking instantly. Probably more because of the tiny bit of Force that Cera pushes into the gesture than anything else. Nobody decides to comment on it.

Her sister then rubs her forehead. “ _Ugh_. I do not like this, but I understand, _damnit_ ,” she says finally. “Calli, Thexan - between the two of you, can we contact Arcann’s flagship now? I cannot believe I just said that. And make sure that nobody can track the signal because I swear if the Fleet turns and fires on this house I will-”

“Calm down Cera,” Calli snaps, already moving to the center console. “You’re not helping.”

Cera looks about to snap back, but Lieca cuts her off through the Force, a warning sign that makes her twin clench her jaw but stand down.

Thexan steps to Calli’s side with Geralt, murmuring instructions and codes to her in a low voice while Geralt kneels down and pries a panel off to implant something amongst the wires. He stands up, dusting off his hands. “A signal disrupter, from Vette,” he says proudly.

Thexan suddenly pauses. “Wait, you didn’t want Arcann’s personal line did you?” he says quickly, sounding both confused and rather worried.

Lieca shakes her head. “No, I feel it is best to contact the flagship on the public channel,” she says quietly. “I fear if it is a private message, that he will not respond. Besides, a public call from a planet potentially under attack is not so unusual. He will hopefully be less suspicious, even though he already knows that we are here.”

Thexan’s pale blue eyes do not leave hers for a few moments, but eventually he nods and turns back to the console with Calli. She gets the distinct impression that he misses his wife and her calming presence. It would probably be best if he went back to the family estates after everything was organised - she highly doubts he wants to come to the flagship. And even if he does, she knows that’s probably not going to do wonders for Arcann’s emotional state.

And then all they can do is wait to see if Arcann receives their signal… and bothers to respond.

 _Please_ let her be right about this. For all their sakes.

 

* * *

 

Arcann drums his fingers on the arm of the throne in the control room, trying to outwardly appear calm even as the Fleet continues waiting silently outside the flagship.

He did not summon the Fleet here. No-one else has the power to command the Fleet - the Fleet is in-built to the Throne back home, coded to his genetic identity. There is no way that anyone else could take his place.

He refuses to accept that his fears about the Alliance subverting his control might have a valid point, even as the evidence stares him straight in the face.

Though he does admit that the spike of anxiety he felt upon the ship reaching Alderaan’s orbit was rather unusual. At that point in time there was nothing to worry him, so he is not entirely sure what had caused it. It could have been a flash of insight into the future, except that Zakuul does not have any use for the precognitive abilities of the Jedi and Sith anymore. They are always so focused on the potential futures rather than the immediate here and now.

It sounds too much like the pathetic Scions, and he scowls under his mask. Why would he waste time and skill on something so obviously useless? Why would he be so weak and pathetic as to hone the skills of the very Order he had snuffed out for their insolence and continued adulation of his father? And Zakuul had crushed both Jedi and Sith regardless, so their skills at precognition and foresight were no match for the might of his armies.

The sudden appearance of the Fleet, especially considering that he did not send a request for any ships of the Fleet to follow him, is far more troubling than any flashes of precognition. Has the Alliance truly subverted his control so easily?

Is it... has _Calli_ so blatantly defied him again?

He growls, his hand clenching into a tight fist at his wandering thoughts. He is _not_ thinking about her again, except in her capacity to ruthlessly strike at the Eternal Throne, and the threat she continues to pose to his rule.

... he might be a _tiny_ bit impressed that she had been able to assume control of his Fleet.

And it’s starting to feel like this is definitely a trap.

His feelings of dread only spike at the beeping of the ship’s holocommunication terminal. There is _too much_ happening, too many _voices_ , too many-

Wait, what?

There is no-one else talking here, the bridge of the flagship in a tense and heavy silence, so why is he feeling so overwhelmed and crowded?

Too busy mulling that thought over in suspicion, he doesn’t really think before he calls out to his staff. “Someone answer that!” he snarls.

He is not exactly expecting to see the image of Master Lieca Amell appear on the comm, the perfect picture of a demure diplomat. All neatly pressed clothes and carefully pinned hair and her earnest expression. He feels like a stumbling idiot in comparison.

As though sensing his unease, she suddenly smiles brightly. _“Greetings, Emperor Arcann. I appreciate that you answered our call. I trust you are well?”_

He scowls, making a concentrated effort to move his hands behind his back to adopt a more formal pose. “Master Amell,” he says politely, as much as it annoys him to refer to her by title instead of her more infamous moniker amongst his people. She has granted him respect in this conversation, he cannot do otherwise in return without appearing as the uncivilised barbarian she makes him feel like. “To what do I owe this pleasure? This can hardly be a social call.”

Her expression flutters for a moment, and although she gives no other visible sign he can bizarrely sense her unease as if it was his own. _“I would like to discuss the appearance of your fleet above the planet Alderaan,”_ she says calmly.

He blinks in confusion. It is not entirely surprising that the Alliance is keeping tabs on him, but such an immediate response is… unexpected. “You were certainly very quick to make this call,” he says carefully. “It is interesting to note how the Alliance favours one particular planet over the others. Did your home planet’s leaders contact you in a panic? ”

Again, her expression doesn’t change, but he feels a spike of irritation from her. _“The ruling Houses are understandably ill at ease with armed forces entering their territories unannounced,”_ she says cautiously. _“Such actions place doubts in the strength of Alderaan’s alliances with Zakuul. Have the ruling Houses upset Zakuul in some manner?”_

He frowns. “Are you here to discuss terms?” he says through somewhat gritted teeth.

_“I am merely trying to understand. Is it my presence on this world that draws your ire? If so, I would like to formally request permission to withdraw from Alderaan. A cessation of combat, if you will.”_

He is more thrown by her words than he would like to admit, sucking in a sudden quick breath at her confirmation. The Alliance is here, on Alderaan? _Why_ are they here? Have they tricked him into coming here, and brought the Fleet to trap and kill him?

She suddenly frowns. _“My sincerest apologies, have I upset you in some way?”_

He will not let her see that she has upset him, though he’s curious as to how she could even tell in the first place. “Do not concern yourself, I am fine,” he says shortly. “Your presence on a world aligned with Zakuul is naturally of some concern to us. Before I consider your terms, what business do you have here?”

_“Mostly personal affairs, I assure you. I would not think such business would be worthy of such a strong response from Zakuul.”_

He grits his teeth again. “You and yours have been personally responsible for the damage of Zakuulan property on numerous occasions, particularly most recently with the destruction of the Alderaanian Star Fortress. It is not unexpected that your continued presence on said world would disturb us.”

Lieca’s expression is the definition of innocence and modest surprise, even as he feels something a lot like smug superiority. Was that coming from her? _“The destruction of the Star Fortress? Oh my, that is certainly beyond my capabilities. I had heard that such a catastrophic event was the result of the delicate reactor becoming compromised, most likely from a maintenance malfunction. The loss of Exarch Draya was certainly a blow. I am sure she will be sorely missed.”_

He falters, realising that he had never conclusively proven that the Alliance was responsible for the Star Fortress’s destruction. “Do you deny it then?” he says shortly.

Her eyes widen. _“Of course! I certainly had nothing to do with it, and no-one in the Alliance was ordered to destroy the Fortress either.”_

Since he has no proof otherwise, this line of questioning is pointless. “Regardless, you are quite confident to assume that I will be so lenient towards your presence here.”

_“My apologies for the assumption. Is that the reason for the strong presence of the Eternal Fleet as well as your personal flagship?”_

Considering the fucking Alliance probably brought the Fleet here to mock him personally, he finds that question rather impertinent. “The actions of my Fleet are not your concern,” he says loftily. “You should be more interested in my response to your request for retreat.”

Lieca’s expression doesn’t even flicker and he is somewhat impressed to see her natural reactions without the looming specter of his father between them. _“Then what are your terms? We would appreciate your clarification in this matter.”_

He scowls, luckily hidden by his mask. “Who else from the Alliance is with you?” he asks.

Before Lieca can react another woman steps into the frame, her identical features instantly proving her as her twin, the Battlemaster. “ _Family_ ,” Cera says shortly. _“This is not an Alliance concern, but a familial one.”_

He raises his eyebrow. “Battlemaster Amell?”

She seems significantly less impressed to see him than her sister. _“You have done your homework,”_ she says in clipped tones.

If Cera and Lieca are both here… are they here to watch his defeat in person? Are they here to order his own Fleet to destroy him, waiting for the moment they can mock him for their superiority? He will _not_ let them believe the Fleet is under any control other than his own! “Of course. How else would I know that you were both here? The confirmation was a test. I am pleased that you were honest.”

There is a definite flash of anger at that, but neither twin’s expression changes and he wonders how in Izax’s name he can even tell. Lieca then speaks up, shooting a warning look at her sister. “ _Honesty is always best,_ ” she says quickly. _“So, your terms? We would prefer that the Fleet remain uninvolved from our discussions where possible.”_

It sounds like a threat, and he tenses. If they actually do control the Fleet, then it is only a matter of time before they turn on him. If the Alliance controls the Fleet, they would not dare attack while their commanders are with him. If they are on his ship, he will be safe. “I find talking over holograms to be insufficient. If you wish to request safe passage from this world, you must do so in person. I will permit one shuttle from your ship to board with mine.”

Cera unfolds her arms, looking rather surprised, though Lieca seems pleased, clasping her hands together. _“Wonderful! If you would be so kind as to provide broadcasting codes? I would so hate for the Fleet to turn on us because we do not have the correct diplomatic codes upon arrival.”_

Yet another threat. “The codes will be provided shortly,” he says crossly, although he hopes to Scyva that they don’t have reason to test their veracity. It’s such a smug mockery, asking him to allow them safe passage through the very ships they have stolen from him. “You have one hour, after which my offer of leniency expires. Do not be late.”

He disconnects the call, trying to focus on the feeling of smugness at neatly avoiding their trap while ignoring the looming threat of another one.

 

* * *

 

With the rather positive end to the conversation, Lieca feels that she can finally breathe again, and relaxes as soon as the call disconnects. She also cannot quite help the victorious look she shoots her sister, and Cera is already scowling as she turns her head to face her. “I do not believe this, there is no way it could be this easy,” she mutters angrily.

“Nonetheless it’s done,” she says cheerfully. “I told you it would work.” Nevermind her shaking fingers or the sheer relief her twin can clearly feel from her annoyed expression.

Theron coughs, also looking annoyed. “So what, we’re supposed to just sit back and let you walk onto Arcann’s personal flagship now?” he says heatedly.

She aches to comfort him, but this is more important than them. “I need you to have faith in me,” she says quietly.

He throws his hands up. “Oh, _sure_. Because last time you met Arcann face-to-face, it went _so well_ and-”

Surprisingly, Lana cuts him off, shooting a look at their new allies who seem confused. They don’t need to know how she barely survived their last encounter. “As we discussed earlier, there were extenuating circumstances at the time,” she says tersely. “The fact of the matter remains that we no longer have a choice. Arcann capitulated far more easily than I would have expected, but we must act according to his requests now and take advantage of the opportunity as it presents itself.”

Cera rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t know how his Imperial Highness was stupid enough to both agree to this, _and_ apparently believe that the Alliance is not here - seriously, _why_ is he so _dumb_?” she snaps, glaring at Thexan.

Thexan’s eyes widen from where he stands slightly behind Calli. “Do not look at me,” he says quickly, a hint of embarrassed colour on his rather pale cheeks. “This is not my doing.”

“Leave the boy alone,” Senya says quietly, her voice no less steely for the quiet tone she adopts.

Cera scoffs. “Who, Arcann or Thexan?”

Lieca steps forward, hands held up in a conciliatory gesture. “ _Arcann_ would have little proof about our presence here, other than if he had someone in Organa’s employ,” she says soothingly. “I hoped to call his bluff. The less he knows about our numbers here, the safer we are, and the safer our family is.”

Cera looks at her with slightly wild eyes, and she clutches her hands. Just because she wants to help Arcann does not mean that she is willing to place her family at risk. Anything that delays his attacks on their world is good enough for her.

The room quickly dissolves into a flood of activity and conversation as they testily discuss their options. In the end, they decide upon Raj, Koth, and his team manning the Gravestone, with Theron on standby to help if the Fleet makes any moves to sabotage their systems. Lieca and Cera will of course go to speak with Arcann, though Lana, Jezhara and Senya insisted on accompanying them as well in case anything happened. She is hesitant to include Senya, but they do need someone to distract Vaylin if required. Jezhara agrees with a grin full of pointed teeth to help out if required too, earning an affectionate eye roll from her wife.

Saria, Vector, Vitalia and Jonas will remain here with their new allies, working to ensure that the estate remains secure and fending off enquiries from both Organa and their respective employers. Due to the immediate nature of Arcann’s request, Ranken, Tai and Malita are not able to provide much assistance to the battle, and so they agree to stay on Alderaan in the hopes that their presence remains unnoticed. Tai agrees to start pushing on Organa to give the Alliance more time if required, and Ranken shortly prepares to put pressure on Thul as a backup.

Calli and Geralt will come with their team on the shuttle, but remain in stealth mode where possible. Their task is to disable the flagship if required, as much as Lieca aches to consider such treachery under such delicate diplomatic terms. She knows the risk Arcann and his temper poses, and at least a non-violent solution is possible. Calli will also particularly try to focus on disabling the flagship’s connection to the Fleet, to remove the option of a violent double-cross.

She hates the thought of risking so many of their friends and family, especially Calli. Her sister won’t make eye contact with her, and that tells her so much about what she’s feeling about the impending encounter.

In the end, with those choices made, everyone disperses to either make preparations or contact their loved ones. Thexan agrees with no hesitation to return to the family estates as another guardian, in case Arcann somehow knows about the children. She hopes Ona’la is able to try to keep him calm while she works to save both his family and her own.

Cera leaves the room to call her husband and children, giving Lieca a quick squeeze on the way out. She moves towards the centre console, about to call Flissa when she feels Theron’s hands slide around her waist and she jumps.

“Would you listen if I asked you to be careful?”

She turns around in his arms, quickly forcing a smile to her face. She knows that although he’s trying to be suave and flippant, he really is worried. But if he wants to play this way, she’ll do her part. “It depends on how you asked?” she says teasingly, fluttering her eyelashes coyly.

Theron meets her halfway with a soft kiss and she wraps her arms around his neck to tug him closer. After a few short moments he stops, his forehead resting on hers. “How’s that?”

She smiles, for real this time, as she makes a show of being impressed. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. I’ll be careful.”

Theron chuckles under his breath, reluctantly letting her step out of his arms. “I appreciate that you’re trying not to worry me,” he says quietly, picking up a datapad to try to hide his shaking fingers. “But you’re a terrible liar.”

She frowns. “Not true!” she says quickly, and he just chuckles, still reading. She knows he hates goodbyes.

“Terrible. Liar,” he says in amusement, but the words are a little hollow and she knows he’s just worried.

So she looks up at him, suddenly sure. “Fine. I love you.”

She used to be able to say it so easily to him before everything went so wrong - over breakfast in the mornings, on her way out the door with a kiss, in his arms late at night as she sighed his name. It’s the first time either of them have said those words since she was saved from her carbonite prison, though they’ve been hovering on the edge of her tongue for weeks now. 

Theron freezes, looking at her with wide eyes and dropping the datapad on his foot. “What?”

She drops her gaze, her determination fleeing. “I-“ she begins, quickly cut off by his mouth again as he pulls her back into his arms and kisses her harder, spinning her to press her against the console next to them.

They have absolutely no time, and she has a million things to do and people to call but she was sure at this moment that he would actually believe her.

He finally pulls back a little, and she frowns at the warring expressions on his face, moving her hand to stroke his cheek. His breathing is shaky and his fingers are trembling at her sides, so she just burrows closer into him. Theron sometimes prefers silence, declaring how awkward he is with words - but she can tell something’s bothering him.

“I… I think,” he starts, voice low and raspy. He pauses, still shaking, and she moves her thumb across his cheek, her other hand playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

He makes a relieved noise at the gestures, somehow stepping closer into her space as he visibly swallows. “I think… I think I was trying to hold myself back… from falling in love with you all over again.”

She knows he means it’s because he’s been hurting and frightened and trying to protect himself, but all she hears is the reminder that he fell _out_ of love with her, and yes, she was gone for five whole years, but it _hurts_ and she bites back a sob.

Of course Theron hears it, his shoulders hunching. “Sweetheart, please,” he chokes out, still holding her tightly. “Everytime… everytime you leave, something horrible happens, and I can’t- I _can’t_ lose you again. And you- you just say that you love me, right before I could lose you forever and I just...”

She digs her fingers in where she holds him, trying to reassure him without saying the words. She won’t break a promise to him, and she can’t promise that everything will be fine. There’s so much risk, so much potential for things to go wrong... as much as she hopes for it to go wonderfully right. Maybe she can make a difference, maybe she isn’t risking everything.

He then chuckles wryly as though he’s come to a decision, pressing his forehead to hers again. “But, of course, you are that same combination of selfless recklessness, you wouldn’t be you without it. You still have the same sweet smile that makes my head spin, you-”

She flushes, fairly certain where he’s going with this. “Theron, you don’t have to say it, I-”

He huffs, nudging her nose with his. “Hush you,” he says with a grin, apparently in amusement at their reversed roles, despite the tears in his eyes. “This is important.”

She ducks her head. “Theron, I have to go,” she says softly, before her smile turns impish. “Are you just rambling to delay again?”

He growls at her, kissing her again. “Fine. I love you too, you impossibly frustrating woman,” he says heatedly. “Couldn’t let me wait to do it all nicely and in the middle of a speech, she just had to insist it was now and-”

“I don’t know, I think you did lovely the very first time.”

His cheeks heat instantly. “Aw, come on, you said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

She giggles. “I love you,” she deflects.

His ears pink as well and he kisses her softly. “Distraction,” he mutters, before his expression clears. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful?”

She nods. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story would literally not exist without the efforts of my awesome friend and amazing beta Defira. An all-around lovely individual who calmly helps me every time I come screaming to her I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO NEXT HELP NO-ONE IS COOPERATING WITH ME (and trust me there was a lot of that this time haha).


	23. Battle of Alderaan

Calli stands in the cockpit of the shuttle behind Geralt as he carefully navigates the single authorised vessel from the Gravestone across to Arcann’s flagship, her fingers digging into the edge of his seat. The ship is uncharacteristically quiet, with none of the customary banter that normally overtakes any craft piloted by Geralt; outside the viewports, the Eternal Fleet hangs in formation, a massive grid against the stars, unmoving. Geralt himself is tense, his shoulders almost rigid as he steers across the open space between the two ships, and she notices that his fingers keep drifting to his belt, and his stealth generator, as if he can’t help himself.

She squeezes his shoulder as the tractor beam takes control of the ship, drawing them in to the designated hangar bay; she’s more relieved than she can say when he leans back in the chair and smiles up at her in response. She knows him far too well to know what’s really playing havoc in his thoughts. “The kids will be fine in the bunker under the house,” she says quietly.

His eyes widen ever so slightly, a sure sign that she’s gotten to the crux of the issue in one, but his mouth turns down in an exaggerated frown. “Huh?” he asks, playing up the part of the dimwitted smuggler. “What are you talking about, babe?”

She frowns back, exaggerating the expression just as much as him. “Our mother hid Father there after the attacks on Alderaan,” she says, slowly dragging out each syllable as if she thinks he’s a moron. Which, to be fair, she does. “It’s super safe. Far safer than trying to run past the Fleet’s blockade.”

Geralt snorts. “Your parents weren't exactly at risk of orbital bombardment at the time.”

She sighs, the sound almost a laugh as she looks back out at the stars. “You don't know how angry the Sith were at Father,” she says softly.

Geralt reaches up to squeeze her hand, well aware of how uncomfortable talk of her parents makes her. “We’ll be okay, babe,” he says gently. “Just, you know, stop thinking about your deadbeat boyfriend and everything will be fine- _OW_!”

She scowls at him, waving her hand to ease the sting after punching him in the arm. “You are _not funny_ ,” she hisses. “Fucking stars, why do I put up with you?”

“My stunning good looks?”

She rolls her eyes, to hide the way they burn at his teasing. He’s trying to be funny, to ease the stress of the moment, she knows that. It doesn’t make it any easier to bear, hearing him refer to a man who deceived her and used her and tried to kill her sister as her boyfriend. “Geralt, that provides no advantage to me whatsoever, you need to provide further usefulness than that.”

He spins around in the chair, sprawling inelegantly as he crosses his arms. “Um, no? I think arm candy is a perfectly acceptable use for me. Risha certainly thinks so.”

“Risha thinks a lot of things about you that I will never understand,” she counters dryly.

He fakes a wounded sound, clutching his chest. “Straight to the heart! Oh, Callistra, you are so cruel to me.” She makes a rude gesture at him, and he sighs. His expression turns wickedly sly. “But you know,” he says in a sing-song voice, “you never actually denied it.”

Her heart lurches into her throat, and despite the urge to shrink into herself, she glares at him. “Geralt, that piece of shit drugged me and hurt me and-” She can’t say it, she can’t say ‘and I almost let him kill Lieca’. “And he made me doubt myself,” she finishes, chin jutting out defiantly, as if that will make the tears in her eyes miraculously vanish. “Stop saying that rubbish, even as a joke.”

The flutter in her belly is nerves, nothing else. The ache in her chest is for Lieca, not herself. Not for the girl who thought a stupid boy might’ve liked her for five minutes. But Geralt’s eyes are surprisingly serious as he stares up at her, and it makes her hesitate, looking away almost guiltily. Geralt might play the part of the bumbling cad rather magnificently, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his moments of brevity. In fact, they usually seem all the more poignant because of the fact that he’s very rarely serious.

“Cal,” he says quietly, reaching forward to take her hand, “of course I don’t like him. And of course I don’t want you to be with someone who hurt you- and yeah, I know he hurt _you_. Not just the whole evil emperor schtick, which’d be reason enough. I don’t need the sordid details to know that my little sister is aching because some asshole stepped down hard on her heart.”

She takes a shaky breath, her lip trembling.

“He hurt you, and that’s enough for me,” he says, his tone deathly serious. “I like to try and make sure you’ve got a reason to smile, but sometimes I fuck up. We’ll keep him off limits for jokes now, capiche?”

She tries to speak, the words coming out like a croak. “I... I don’t know if I want to see him,” she whispers horrified at the way her voice shakes. And she wasn’t sure, she was honestly terrified- because what if it was like last time? What if she froze up at a crucial moment because she remembered the way he’d made her laugh? What if someone else got hurt, because of her?

What if he looked at her and just laughed at her, the stupid, silly girl who’d gotten her heart tangled up around the feet of an emperor, only for him to stomp on it?

Geralt’s grin is almost feral. “If I blind him, he ain’t ever gonna lay eyes on you ever again, babe,” he says. Before the ruthlessness of the words even has time to sink in, he claps his hands together. “But! Now we’re inside the ship, and I kept you distracted for the worst part. So I think I win.”

She blinks at him before looking out of the viewport and realising that yes, they are indeed inside the hangar bay now. They’ve been friends for over a decade by now, she really needs to learn to stop underestimating him. “Thanks,” she says quietly, utterly mortified at her brief lapse of control. “But I still hate you.”

He laughs, jumping up out of his seat and kissing her forehead. “Yeah yeah, love you too babe,” he says genially. The flash of brutality is only in her memory now. “Now, come on, I want backup before I walk into the Force Freezer Room.”

He walks past her without giving her a chance to respond, and she sighs at his empty chair. “No worries Geralt, I’m happy to watch Jezhara stick your foot in your mouth,” she says dryly, before following him. She might’ve taken a moment to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand before stepping out of the cockpit, though.

He’s already speaking as she walks into the small cargo bay at the rear of the shuttle. “Now now, love blossom,” he’s saying, in a terribly over affectionate tone, “if you keep scowling like that, your pretty face will get stuck that way.”

Calli walks into the cargo bay just in time to see Jezhara quite literally _hiss_ something seemingly extremely vulgar in Sithspeak, if the way Lana’s expression changes is anything to go by. “Do _not_ address me so informally, you imbecile,” she snarls icily, when she switches back to Republic Basic.

Cera shrugs, apparently pretending Geralt is not using her as an armrest where she sits on the bench checking over her weapons for the upteenth time. “I never said we kept him around for his brains,” she says dryly, hooking her lightsaber back onto her belt and tucking a vibroknife into her boot. “Save your annoyance for the Knights in this obvious trap.”

Lieca opens her mouth, her eyes still a little red from her teary goodbyes on the Gravestone. Cera speaks over her first. “Nuh-uh, you,” she says, waving her finger pointedly to shush her. “Your incorrect opinion has already been noted multiple times now. And when this inevitably crumbles as I know it will, in the surprising eventuality that we survive, you are on babysitting duty for a month of dates for me and Doc.”

Senya chuckles faintly, and Cera scowls, apparently determined to prove her point. “That's a whole month of dates spread out,” she says loudly, and Senya puts her hands up in faux surrender, “it’s not like, one month where we only go out four times.”

“Twins can be a handful,” is all Senya says, and Calli can’t quite work out how she’s seemingly so relaxed right now.

Cera nods emphatically. “See? See? I need a _real_ vacation Liss. This one is _terrible_ so far.”

Lieca raises her eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to request that Arcann take that into consideration,” she says dryly. “Now, stop swearing at me - you know you always get stuck there.”

Cera immediately turns to Jezhara. “Your language is all over the place. What's a curse word starting with Q?”

Jezhara blinks in surprise but instantly rattles off a phrase that turns Lana bright red.

“Love, please!” she squeaks, her eyes wide as she covers her face.

Jezhara smirks. “Perhaps later. These have not earned the right to watch that - _do not speak, you_.”

Geralt pouts, closing his mouth in disappointment and swallowing whatever crude retort he was going to offer. Lieca joins Lana in burying her face in her hands, and Cera seems to be trying to sound out the phrase phonetically. Senya on the other hand appears to be pretending she is somewhere else entirely, and is studiously ignoring them all.

Calli sighs. It’s eerie, standing here in the shuttle, waiting for permission to disembark. What’s to stop them from just... opening fire on the shuttle in the hangar, killing them before they even have a chance to retaliate? “Here we stand, the diplomatic hope of the galaxy,” she says dryly, hiding her shaking fingers under her arms.

Geralt shrugs. “Hey, this’ll be easier than that time I pretended to be Pilot Lieutenant Commander Ina’irolia’kleoni.”

Lana pauses, her blush fading in her confusion. “Airolia? But he’s a Chiss.”

“What, you’re saying the ranks of the Imperial army are full of dimwits who don’t know what a chiss looks like and would therefore fall for my ploy? Wow Lana, way to be racist.”

“I didn’t….oh, never mind.”

Cera interjects quickly, as though sensing something. “Enough,” she says sharply, a glint in her eyes as she climbs to her feet. “Is everyone’s comm and earpiece working?”

Calli huffs and brushes her hair back to show the delicate silver over her ear before the others follow suit. “Of course. And connected to Holiday’s network if I get really stuck.”

Cera nods. “Wonderful. And Holiday, darling, if you apologise about SCORPIO again, I shall tell the girls to remove their stickers from your main console.”

Holiday’s image appears over Lieca’s palm, looking horrified. “Oh no! But it’s my sacred duty to protect Princess Sparkle Pony!”

Jezhara twitches, and if Calli was a little less tense, she’d laugh at her expression. As it is, Lana seems to be hiding a smile. “Well then, we best be on our way to save the Princess, yes?”

Just in time, too - Cera turns towards the hatch almost before the voice sounds from outside the shuttle, even as the rest of them flinch. “Jedi Master Amell! His most Imperial Majesty requests your presence at once!”

Calli hits her stealth generator immediately, while Geralt leans on the wall next to him, arms folded. “After you, ladies,” he says in his usual charming voice, but his smile is too tight for the expression to seem natural.

They had already decided on the flight over here that Geralt, Jezhara and Senya should try to stay with the shuttle - at least until they could confirm it was no longer being watched. Besides, Jezhara’s temper and Senya’s very presence was likely to be too confrontational if they were involved in the entire process.

Her lips pressed into an unhappy line, Senya nonetheless moves out of sight at Cera’s nod, and once she deems it to be safe, she hits the button for the hatch release. The airlock hisses and depressurizes, and Calli winces and stretches her jaw, waiting for her ears to pop. Cera stands defiantly in the hatch as it slowly opens, hand resting rather pointedly on the hilt of her lightsaber as the steam clears. “We are coming out,” she declares coldly.

“You will exit the vessel with your hands in the air-”

“We will do no such thing,” Cera says sharply, and opposite her, she sees Geralt wince at that tone. They’ve all been on the receiving end of that voice at least once in recent months. “We are His Immortal Majesty’s guests, not his prisoners.”

“This is not acceptable.”

“Either you keep your hands to yourself, or I am going to get back on this shuttle and go back to Alderaan and order the planetary defenses to open fire on this flagship.” It is an incredibly bold and ridiculous lie, so much so that Calli can feel her jaw drop at the sheer gall of it. “So you can tell your Emperor, we-”

“One moment!” The sounds of hushed conversation trickles through the open hatch, and Cera stands with her chin held high, hand still on her lightsaber in an implicit threat. After a few agonisingly long moments, another voice sounds. “You may keep your weapons,” it says dubiously, “but you are to keep your hands where we can see them.”

“Can you see me holding my lightsaber right now?”

“Cera,” Lieca hisses, nudging her forehead. Apparently accepting defeat, Cera marches down the ramp and onto the floor of the hangar bay, with Lieca in close pursuit. Lana brings up the rear with a final look behind her to where Jezhara stands, before nodding brusquely and vanishing as well.

The four of them still on the ship wait in terse silence, waiting for the group to retreat and the all clear to be given.

 

* * *

 

Arcann waits by the window on his largest observation deck, his hands behind his back as he tries not to pace.

The Amell sisters’ shuttle had landed only a short time ago, and he felt the exact moment they reached his ship. It unsettles him, how easily he can sense the Jedi healer - she shines much brighter than her companions, and like a moth before a flame he finds himself continuously drawn towards it. Even her sister’s presence is duller in comparison to hers, and the Battlemaster has had years of training that would presumably give her an edge, not make her seem weaker.

Admittedly, the last time they met Lieca was obviously not at peak health, but it’s strange to feel how much... _stronger_ she seems now. There’s no reason that he should be able to sense her over her companions, especially not to the extent that he can right now. Especially not to the extent that she resonates within him like an echo of his own heartbeat.

Perhaps it is to try and shield the others? There was at least five significant Force users on the shuttle, but he was too distracted to focus on their individual presences. Shielding is after all one of the feats she is most famous for.

Or... perhaps he is wrong in attributing such strength to a mere mortal - perhaps it is again the spectre of his father, and his hands clench into fists behind his back. The thought of inviting his father into his sanctuary makes his entire body ache with adrenalin, with the furious need to panic or lash out, and he represses the urge to shudder. He scarcely has to concentrate to be able to hear the echo of his voice, that sneering tone, condemning him and calling him weak and cowardly. It’s only one of several reasons he tries desperately not to think about him.

But what choice did he have today? If the Alliance - if his _Father_ \- has lured him into a trap... what else can he do?

Of course, he can’t let anyone else realise that this is almost certainly an ambush. Vaylin had stalked off in disgust when she found out he was planning to meet with Master Amell, and not simply kill her outright. He could practically hear the whispers amongst his staff as the news broke throughout the ship, and had angrily stormed from the bridge.

And so here he waits, in blessed, terrifying silence, pretending he isn’t watching the Gravestone and the Fleet from outside his window so that he knows which one fires first.

Pretending he isn’t staring his own doom in the face.

At least he won’t have to see his own Fleet turn on him just yet - with Lieca on board his flagship, her people will hold their fire. She is obviously beloved by those who follow her - why else would they have gone to so much effort to free her? He knew all the stories about her friends and family and loved ones, had studied her history in depth after her imprisonment. They would have spent the five years worrying about her and trying to free her and just wanting her to be safe. They loved her.

If their situations were reversed… no-one would come for him. He knows that.

But Lieca’s people love her and care about her. They won’t hurt her. As long as she is here, he is safe from them. Of course, he has already experienced the wrath of one of her sisters. He hardly expects a better reception from her twin now. Cera already seemed rather angry with him before.

At least this time it won’t be Calli rejecting him again.

At least this time he won’t have to see the hate in her eyes when she looks at him.

He hears a vague commotion from outside his door, and realises that they have arrived while he was lost in his thoughts. No doubt whoever was accompanying the twins was protesting at being kept outside, but his instructions to his staff were explicitly clear.

Just because he has been outplayed does not mean he wants any other witnesses to his defeat.

After a few moments of discussion, in which he absolutely does not feel the tension creeping agonisingly over his shoulders, he hears the door slide open. Two sets of footsteps approach him, but they do not draw within striking distance. He does not bother turning around. “Master Amell,” he greets curtly. “And Master Amell.”

Neither of the women speak, no acknowledgement of his greeting, and after gritting his teeth in frustration he turns to face them, hands still behind his back. The woman on the right is clearly the Battlemaster, her dark brown clothing more obviously augmented with armour plating, with her lightsaber in prominence on her hip. The plates over her chest and the tunic with leggings provide more obvious protection and freedom of movement than her sister’s long, elegant skirts. Cera’s blonde hair is pinned back functionally, clearly for the purpose of getting it out of her eyes rather than any particular fashion. He can sense her distaste for him even from across the room, and manages to hide his flinch at her disdain.

Lieca, by contrast, is still in her usual long flowing robes, her attire far more demure and formal than her sister. Long skirts and her hair pinned back behind a glittering headpiece, she is far more the picture of a diplomat than a warrior. He cannot even see her lightsaber, though even she could not be so foolish as to travel without it.

The sisters are obviously twins, but now, seeing them together, he cannot help but notice the differences, even in the very way they move and hold themselves.

It was all he and Thexan had to distinguish each other other than the colour of their clothing, after all.

Seeing the way Cera moves suddenly strikes a chord in his memory, and he frowns. “Those times that Lieca was witnessed on Zakuul following her rescue…” he says curiously, “that was you, wasn’t it?”

Both twins pause, with Lieca glancing almost anxiously at her sister; Cera simply raises an eyebrow, as if in challenge. “Yes, well - it was rather hard for my sister to move around that much while healing from a lightsaber wound to the stomach,” she says calmly, a hint of white hot anger in her words. Lieca suddenly elbows her, and she scowls. “Your Majesty. And thus my presence was required in her place.”

He ignores the flash of pain in his own gut. “It is indeed remarkable that she survived at all,” he says with gritted teeth, turning to Lieca. “A testament to your healing, no doubt.”

She looks impossibly sad. “I wish it were only my own healing that was responsible,” she says quietly.

The reminder of his father makes him flinch. “ _Enough_. Why are you here?”

Lieca sighs. “To request clemency for Alderaan,” she says softly. “As I mentioned before, our business with the planet was predominantly personal in nature. As you are no doubt aware, it is our home planet, and we were attempting to reconnect with family following my... absence. We would appreciate your consideration of our request for both sides to depart peacefully.”

“Peacefully?” he scowls, pretending that his belly doesn’t roil with guilt at the way she avoids mentioning her five year imprisonment at his hands. “If you think this will end peacefully, explain the presence of the Fleet!”

Lieca pauses, exchanging some sort of look with Cera. “I would not presume to understand how your mind works,” she says slowly. “If the Fleet was summoned here, I would only assume it was your order and yours alone. I would hope it was not for a violent confrontation… but I suppose that depends on our discussion now.”

He barely represses his snort at their mockery of him and his control of the Fleet, and Cera’s eyes are shrewd as she watches him. “I suppose it is for similar reasons that we are meeting here, in full view of the Fleet,” she says, her tone somehow both light and deeply sarcastic.

He wonders if she knows that he wanted the Fleet there as a reminder of the cost if they turned it on him, that they would sacrifice their own lives to take his. “Are you so willing to sacrifice yourselves for this?” he asks tightly.

Lieca seems surprised. “For my home and my family? Of course. I love them.”

Cera sighs. “Oh for the love of… _nobody_ here is sacrificing themselves for _anything_ , are we clear? Honestly, you two are so morbid.”

He ignores her and looks to Lieca. “The second time we spoke, you offered surrender.”

Her eyes are sad as she looks back. “Unfortunately, as that ended rather poorly, I am disinclined to agree to such measures again,” she says quietly.

He grunts, acknowledging the role he played in such a mess of circumstances with an embarrassed nod. “Such things are to be expected when you carry my father within you,” he says tightly, immediately redirecting the blame.

Lieca draws herself up, and he feels a flash of annoyance from her that he cannot match to her expression. “As I have explained before,” she says, a vague tone of impatience slipping into her speech, “your father has _no bearing_ on my actions. His opinions and his desires mean nothing to me, other than to provide me with direction in how to deliberately defy him, and do my utmost to prevent his attempts of further cruelty.”

He gestures irritably towards her. “As we have seen in the past, that has gone rather splendidly,” he says sarcastically. The movement irritates his already tense shoulders, and he tries as subtly as possible to stretch it to ease the dull spike of pain. “Forgive me if I do not feel inclined to trust your assurances that you are not in his thrall.”

Lieca’s cheeks flush a soft pink, and she drops her gaze slightly. “You have not been doing the exercises I sent have you?” she asks after a long pause, sounding almost disappointed.

Cera rubs her temple. “By all of the fucking gods of Naboo… you sent him _physical therapy instructions_ , I _cannot_ take you _anywhere_.”

He blinks in surprise, realising that she has been watching his shoulder, and embarrassment at her scrutiny makes his tone harsh. “I am not required to explain myself to you,” he snaps. “Our concern is your presence here, and nothing else.”

Lieca’s eyes are wide pools of sympathy and he finds himself turning in frustration to her twin. “You requested this meeting. You requested that Zakuul leave this place. What do you offer in return?”

Cera’s hand is on her hip, fiddling with the hilt of her lightsaber, and that gesture combined with the look in her eyes makes her meaning obvious. She is ready to offer violence. But Lieca speaks first again. “You still don’t trust us,” she says sadly.

His eyes widen in disbelief. “ _Trust_ you?” he asks incredulously. “Whyever would I trust you?” They fucking summoned his own Fleet here to _kill_ him, hiding behind honeyed words and soft looks and sad sighs.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time an Amell sister tried to deceive him so utterly. This time, however, he wouldn’t be taken in as a fool.

Cera looks somehow more annoyed now. “Because she has done _nothing_ to earn your blatant distrust of her,” she says through gritted teeth. “Time and again she offers you another chance, offers you support, offers you friendship regardless of how little you deserve it, and you-”

“She carries my father within her!” he snarls, cutting her off. “Any _offer_ you make is meaningless next to that! I have spent a _lifetime_ listening to his lies and false promises, and I will not be taken in by them anymore!”

Lieca looks distressed, actually stepping forward for a moment as if she wants to reach for him, and he flinches back from her with another snarl. “This is not about you! It has _never_ been about you. You spared his life, you accepted his help, you-”

“I have _never_ accepted his help!” Lieca snaps, and the flash of anger from her is enough to make both him and Cera jump. “I do not want this, I want him gone and the last few weeks of peace have been-”

“Peace!?” he interrupts angrily. “What are you talking about?”

She blinks in confusion. “We… we sealed him. I haven’t heard from him since he tried to kill me,” she says quietly, before tilting her head at him, her eyes pleading and desperate. “We want the same things there Arcann. _Please_. We could have worked together, all this time.”

He ignores the way it makes something stick in his throat, how she still keeps reaching out to him as she would a friend, how she keeps offering him hope and seems to mean it. But she has Valkorion inside her, her words cannot be trusted. Hope is not meant for men like him. “How did you seal him?” he hisses, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he fights back the urge to prowl back and forth with restless energy. “Is this why you seem stronger?”

Cera gives him an odd look, and even Lieca seems confused. “I… what?”

Cera makes an odd gesture towards him, and Lieca jumps just as he feels a twitch in his own head, moving his hand to his temple. “Ow! What was that for?” she snaps.

“Testing to see what he was going to do,” her twin answers calmly, for all that she still looks angry as she turns back to him. “You felt that too, didn’t you?”

He snarls. “What are you doing?”

Lieca blinks in surprise, turning to her sister uncertainly. “I-”

Cera cuts her off. “You had no idea we were here until we made the call, did you?”

Arcann bares his teeth, the gesture pointless given the mask, and ignores the panicked twist in his gut. “I would know the stench of my father’s presence anywhere. You cannot hide from me!”

Cera chuckles, the sound low and twisted. “Force bonds work in mysterious ways, don’t they?” she drawls darkly, her eyes stabbing right through him like knives.

He ignores her, desperately trying to avoid the now-obvious conclusion. “I know my father is still within you. I have sacrificed too much to be met with your silence, and my patience is wearing thin. Where is he?”

Lieca frowns, looking frustrated. “He is not here, we sealed him!”

“Answer me!”

Too angry to even think, he lashes out instinctively with the Force, only to be met with Cera’s lightsaber cutting in front of her sister and blocking the brunt of the blast; the Battlemaster is all but radiating cold fury, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Enough!” she snaps, as one of Lieca’s barriers flickers into existence around them. “Your asshole of a father is not here, and you are being a petulant _child_ and-”

She suddenly stops as the insistent chime of a holocom sounds, and she closes her eyes, visibly trying to restrain herself as she raises the hand not holding her lightsaber to her ear. “Excuse me one moment,” she says frostily.

Arcann frowns. “What are you doing?” he asks incredulously. Is she... is she _honestly_ stepping away from their confrontation to take a call?

She squares her shoulders. “ _Apparently_ , someone is using the emergency codes, and so I am going to answer them,” she says tightly. “ _This better be important._ ”

 

* * *

 

Calli slowly makes her way through the ship in stealth mode, hugging the walls whenever anyone walks past, and periodically ducking into unused rooms and storage closets to reset her stealth generator. Her heart is pounding in her ears like a battledrum, and she’s sure she’s never breathed so loudly in her life, but so far luck has been on her side, and she’s gone undetected even by the droids.

She had managed to find an unused terminal to at least quickly download a map of the ship, piggybacking off the datapad signals of the officers in the mess hall nearby at the time, but it’s not helping her as much as she’d like. Honestly, this place is like a fucking maze, and she’s feeling distinctly like a tiny mouse running around for a piece of cheese and hoping not to get squished by some weird scientist or creepy Zakuulan officer or fucking Skytrooper and-

_Okay, calm down, panicking is going to help absolutely no-one._

Geralt has been humming some Dubrillion lullaby into her ear for the last few minutes, keeping her a little amused at how he keeps horrifically mangling the accents on the words and turning them increasingly vulgar as he goes. She can tell he’s worried because he’s forgoing the opportunity to harass Darth Jezhara to reassure her, and she whispers back her thanks as she ducks into another deserted corridor.

“Do you sing to your kids with that mouth?” she whispers, trying to figure out which way to go next. He seems rather offended, and mumbles something about Risha loving his mouth before she cuts him off in disgust. “I did not need to know that, thanks.”

She keeps checking the map while she waits for her stealth generator to recharge, and finally locates a terminal deep in the engineering level that should be able to help her. The terminal clearly connects to both the bridge and the ship’s outgoing data streams, and it’s the likeliest place for a connection to the Fleet to be maintained.

And, if she’s lucky, redirected or at least interrupted.

It’s a little suspicious that said terminal has been left unguarded, but she supposes it’s like most servers on ships and underground bases - the strongest terminals providing all the data people forget to even think about tend to be left alone unless under attack.

And as far as this ship knows, they aren’t under attack at all.

She knows Lieca feels guilt about them coming here under diplomatic pretences, only for Calli to sneak off and start sabotaging things, but Lieca’s feelings will just have to wait.

So she changed the temperature in Arcann’s rooms and changed the clocks on all of the bridge personnel’s terminals, so what? A girl has to have something to do while she’s trying to keep down a panic attack and not think about the stupid cute boy who’s trying to kill her family.

Aaaaaand since that is clearly working, she throws herself into further work almost immediately.

First step, lock the door behind her. Second step, remotely wipe all access to said terminal by performing administrator overrides.

She’s deep in the codes of the ship in mere minutes, almost cackling about how easy it is. If she just thinks of it all as a giant puzzle to solve - if she just stops thinking about Arcann and how everything is going to come crashing down - she can do this.

She hums to herself distractedly as she follows the datastreams for the mess hall, petulantly twisting the food dispensers in the mess hall to make everything blander as she goes.

Geralt’s dithering has dropped off a bit, and she realises he has finally turned his attention back to Jezhara when he accidentally activates the comm again, clearly in the process of needling the Sith. “ _So, do you have ridges all the way down, or is that just an upper body thing?”_

She barely represses her snort at Jezhara’s faintly heard reply, picturing the woman’s icy expression. “ _Do you have tattoos all the way down, or do I need to make some with some burn marks?”_

_“Be still my beating heart, you could at least offer to buy me dinner first!”_

_“I will make you into dinner at this rate!”_

_“Well, darling, I mean I’m up for it if you are - hey wait, where’s Senya?”_

_“Hopefully finding a sharper stick that I can use to poke your eyes out you miserable worm!”_

Lana cuts in, apparently listening in to the channel. _“My love, please. And Calli, please shut him up before she does.”_

Calli rolls her eyes, tucking her dataspike behind her ear as she starts typing rapidly on the consoles. “Don’t you think if I had an off-switch I would’ve used it by now?” she grumbles.

_“Calli sweetheart, I’m wounded!”_

_“You will be in a moment!”_

She sighs, tuning them out entirely as she shifts her attention to the isolated stream connecting the Fleet to the bridge, tries to disrupt the communication… and pauses. “Oh… this is bad.”

All conversation on the comm stops, and Geralt’s voice sounds urgent as he speaks up. _“Calli? What is it babe, talk to me.”_

Too busy panicking, she hangs up on them and switches to the emergency codes in Cera’s earpiece, well aware that they’ve reached the observation decks by now, but this is kinda fucking important. His Royal Majesty Asshole can wait. She’ll just have to completely ignore the fact that this will tip him off to her presence on the ship.

She wonders what his expression will look like when he realises she’s here.

There’s a click as the line connects, and she rushes in before her brain can latch on to further thoughts of Arcann. “Uh, guys?”

Cera answers her after a few long moments, sounding very harried. _“This better be important!”_ she hisses angrily.

Calli rolls her eyes, trying to focus on sassing her sister rather than her rising panic. “No, I thought I’d ring about the weather.”

 _“Do_ not _make me come down there, so help me.”_

Eyes on the data streams, desperately trying to find something different, she swallows. “Fine. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

_“Calli, I swear-”_

“Well technically none of it’s good so… Arcann can’t order the Fleet to fire on us. Because the signal to the Fleet has been destroyed. The Fleet isn’t responding to any commands, no matter what I try.”

_“That isn’t good?”_

She grits her teeth, closing her eyes. “Well no, not really. Because if Arcann isn’t controlling the Fleet and we aren’t controlling the Fleet… _who the fuck else do you think is doing it??”_

Cera suddenly curses a blue streak. _“SCORPIO. Fucking, damnit! I’m going to kill her!”_ she snarls before hanging up.

She puts down the comm, hands shaking as she tries to figure out what to do next. If she can’t interrupt the Fleet… what else can she do? If SCORPIO controls the Fleet, she’s probably going to try to attack the ship and kill them all in one blast so… increase power to the shields?

She scoffs to herself even as she moves, fingers accidentally missing keys in her panic. Yeah, sure, because any ship other than the Gravestone has survived an attack by the fucking Eternal Fleet.

As if to prove a point, she suddenly hears an explosion and feels the ship list ever so slightly to the left; from the warning signs on the console, the Fleet has started attacking the ship.

She curses wildly and starts trying to counter-hack whatever she can, too busy to acknowledge Geralt’s panicked words in her ear. He slips into Mirialan when he’s really drunk or really out of it, and she doesn’t have the time or brainpower to spare to translate, let alone try to reassure him.

So focused on the terminals and trying to work over the thundering of her own heartbeat in her ears, it takes a moment to realise that someone else is in the room behind her. She whirls around at the sudden noise before she freezes.

 _Fuck_. “Um, hi... Princess Vaylin.”

 

* * *

 

Arcann watches the Battlemaster in utter bewilderment, trying to determine who she is speaking to and why even an emergency comm could be urgent enough to step away from him when he has all but attacked them. His heart stops when she says Calli’s name, and he desperately tries to cover the rush of emotions he feels.

Gods above and below, is Calli here too?

Lieca is watching him suspiciously, as though she can somehow tell what he is feeling - absolutely preposterous, she does not know him well enough for this - and seems a little pale as she glances quickly to Cera. “What is it?” she asks urgently.

But Cera is instead looking at Arcann, expression dark. “Oh no, don’t you even think about it,” she says warningly.

He stares at her. “What?”

She folds her arms, still glaring at him with enough ice in her eyes that she would put Scyva to shame. “Don’t you even _think_ of going after our sister again,” she hisses, with venom on her tongue. “Haven’t you done enough to her?”

He stares at her in confusion. “What?”

She scowls. “I _felt_ that, okay? I know what you’re thinking and I’m only getting the fucking bleedover. You stay away from Calli. She deserves better than _you_.”

He wants to protest, tell her she’s being ridiculous. “You seemed happy enough to throw her at me to save your twin,” he snarls back instead, a little bewildered at her assumptions of understanding him. And her words _hurt_ , as much as he doesn’t want them to. He already knew she deserved better than him, even after how she betrayed him. He doesn’t need someone else to tell him such.

Cera quite literally growls at him. “You weren’t even supposed to be there! She was supposed to be _safe_ and you just threw her aside like she was _nothing_ and-”

Lieca interjects, catching Cera’s forearm. “Darling, please,” she says quickly, glancing nervously between them. “I agree with you, of course, but what’s happening?”

Even the _nice_ sister doesn’t want him near Calli.

Cera shrugs her hand off, clearly frustrated. “What’s _happening_ is that this is all a giant fucking trap, and we’re stuck here trying to warn some stupid boy away from our sister when we are literally - _literally_ \- minutes away from being blown out of the sky, and just _this is literally the worst vacation ever_.”

He frowns, latching onto the most accessible part of her tirade. “Stupid?”

Cera rounds on him. “Yes! Stupid! Because you didn’t even realise your own fucking Fleet isn’t under your control anymore, and now we’re all going to die and I’m just... I’m so mad, I can’t even... Lieca, you owe me at least two months of dates now. Fucking SCORPIO.”

He tenses, the confirmation at last doing nothing to reassure him. “So, you admit at last your true intentions for coming here.”

Lieca raises her eyebrow and Cera throws her hands in the air, deactivating her lightsaber. “Yes, we _totally_ came here to tell you off for fucking our sister, like I don’t have better things to do!”

He frowns, his hands shaking from adrenalin. What is a scorpio, and why does it have anything to do with dates? Why is it at all relevant to their imminent deaths? Clearly some sort of miscommunication is going on here. “Why would you summon the Fleet to kill me, and then walk into the trap yourselves?” he says, baffled.

Cera whirls around to Lieca. “I’m so mad Lieca, and I can’t kill someone this stupid,” she says, almost whining. “It’s basically just like kicking a puppy!”

Lieca nods sagely, but she’s still remarkably pale. “He does tend to have puppy eyes doesn’t he?” she says with a shaky smile, with an air of one who knows him quite well; he bristles at the condescending familiarity.

It’s actually quite surreal and unnerving, seeing the two of them looking at him with such speculation after declaring them to be facing certain death within minutes. Like a pair of high society matrons assessing his suitability for marriage to their granddaughters, all while the ballroom burns down around them. Cera is frowning at her sister, as if she has entirely forgotten him. “Like Theron’s any better? Please, Liss, I know your weaknesses.”

Lieca scowls back. “Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Archiban pouting far worse than Theron has!”

Cera sighs.dismissively “Fine. Let’s just agree that Calli has the worst taste and be done with it.”

Lieca taps her chin, looking at him thoughtfully. “True, but... I suppose I can understand the appeal.”

Cera hides her face in her hands. “Oh my fucking god, _Lieca_.”

“ _What_?”

He’s really starting to feel like he’s drawn his lightsaber with a flourish, only for the weapon to not activate - leaving him off-balance and humiliated and confused. To have this conversation go from such tense diplomacy, to hearing the twins frankly discuss their partners is just… the fuck is even going on here?

They said that this was a trap, they admitted their control of the Fleet, and then they just... ignored him? Ignored the threat he posed? “ _Enough_!”

Cera sighs, hands on her hips. “What?” she says tiredly, sounding for all the world like a mother sick and tired of telling a toddler to be quiet, and he does not like the comparison.

“Why would you summon the Fleet to kill me and then walk into the trap yourselves?” he repeats, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anger.

Cera opens her mouth, but Lieca cuts her off again. “Did you think _we_ were controlling the Fleet?” she asks quickly.

Arcann blinks in confusion. “You have already confirmed it is not under my control,” he growls. “Why else would it be here?”

Both twins suddenly look past him, out the windows, and Cera sighs. “To kill all of us,” she says quietly, and he also looks over his shoulder just as the Fleet opens fire.

Eyes wide, he stumbles as the ship tilts to the left, but luckily the first attack did not pierce any of the windows of the observation deck. Cera falls to one knee, but Lieca is still standing, stance wide, before she helps her sister up.

Lieca then looks over at him, a tired smile on her face. “I can’t help but feel that this has happened before,” she says, even as the ship rocks with another explosion. “At least this time the room didn’t explode.”

“What is the meaning of this?” he snaps.

Cera glares at him. “What does it fucking look like?” she snaps. “Someone else has control of the Fleet and tricked us both into coming here so she could kill us all! When I get my hands on that droid…”

“You _knew_ the Fleet was under someone else’s control and didn’t think to _say_ anything?” he says incredulously.

Cera gives him a flat look as Lieca stumbles this time. “Oh, _sure_. Because you’ve been _so nice_ to us and doing all of the good deeds all over the place!” she snaps.

Lieca regains her footing, looking nervously at the Fleet out the window. “He did help Bowdaar with the slave rings on Zakuul,” she says quietly.

How does she even know about that?

Cera rolls her eyes. “Oh yay! One good deed! I’m so happy Lieca, this just makes up for _everything else he’s done_.”

Lieca looks a little offended. “Well you don’t have to be so rude.”

“Enough!” he snarls again, drawing their attention once more. He does not like to be outplayed! “You lured me here, knowing that the Fleet was a trap. You deliberately lulled my flagship into a false sense of security. You did this!”

Lieca looks down for a moment. “We hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” she says quietly.

He snarls at her. “You _hoped_? See what your hopes have brought you! Your trickery to bring yourselves here, to sit here and watch and laugh at my defeat as though it means nothing to you… it’s rather typical for my father, after all.”

Cera steps forward cautiously, hand moving to her lightsaber again. “Arcann…” she starts warningly. As though he can be talked down to, like a mere child. He will show them the cost of their defiance!

“I will not be defied!” he snaps, raising his hand to call golden lightning towards them.

Cera barely has time to bring her lightsaber to stop him, and the lightning fizzles out against a soft purple shield instead, as familiar to him as his own name. “Valkorion,” he snarls. “You stand there and tell me that he is gone - it is only more of your lies!”

Lieca steps out from behind her sister, her hands held out in front of her. “No, this is me,” she says tightly. “Valkorion has nothing to do with this!”

But he _knows_ that shield, he knows he does, and he can only see the flicker of memory from the times he tried to defy his father, only to be mocked for his anger and failures. Beating against a shield like a screaming child trying to knock down the door that separated him from his brother. “His mark runs deeper than even I imagined,” he growls.

He can’t even think, he can only act, and he _throws_ Cera across the room, ignoring the skid of her soles across the ground as he charges at Lieca, lightsaber ignited.

He bounces off that same shield, her expression tight. “You’re a fool, Arcann,” she says softly. “Valkorion is not worth this.”

He lifts his lightsaber to strike again, but this time Cera’s blade meets his. “Stop this,” she growls.

He raises his eyebrow, drawing back from the stalemate. “As though this wasn’t what you wanted from the moment you stepped through that door.”

Cera looks sad, and it makes him falter for a moment. She has the same eyes as her younger sister after all. “It’s the only way to stop you, isn’t it?” she says, just before she swings her lightsaber against him again. The sadness in her eyes seeps away, replaced by deep, icy blue. “Then so be it.”

 

* * *

 

Calli doesn’t dare move, and Vaylin eventually sniffs disdainfully. “I am High Justice, not some basic Princess,” she says haughtily, apparently utterly unconcerned by the rocking of the ship and the distant alarms wailing with each new explosion. “What are you doing?”

Calli frowns, hesitating as she tries to gauge whether it’s worth making a break for the door. “Trying to keep this ship from killing us all,” she says testily. “What are _you_ doing?”

Vaylin huffs, blowing a lock of hair off her forehead. “I am _bored_ ,” she says crossly. “My brother just wants to sit in his room and - hey, you jumped.”

Calli freezes. “What?”

Her smile grows wider, more teeth. “You flinched. Are you scared of my brother?”

“He _is_ the Emperor.”

Vaylin looks delighted for a moment before her expression turns curious. “Oh wait, I know you,” she says, as triumphant as a loth cat with a bowl of cream. “You’re _her_. You're that _girl_ he keeps moping about.”

Her heart absolutely does _not_ flutter in her chest. “What?” she says, far squeakier than she hoped.

Vaylin rolls her eyes. “You’re the girl from the party. I think he’s still sulking. Pretty clever, how you tricked him and disappeared. How did you know he’d pick you?”

“What?”

She giggles. “You sound like a Rishi parrot, just saying the same thing over and over again.” She leans forward, making a show of scrutinising her closely. “Arcann likes to pick pretty people at his parties. But how'd you know he pick you? You're pretty, sure, but so are lots of other people.”

She blinks in surprise. “Um, thank you,” she says politely. “But I’m pretty sure that was just circumstance. Or did he make that drunk bimbo launch herself at me?”

Vaylin looks perplexed for a moment before she grins again. “Oh, yes! I remember her! Such a clumsy girl. Everyone was so mad,” she says gleefully, before she continues in a sing-song voice. “It wasn’t because of her he picked you. Arcann was watching you the whole night.”

Calli shudders. “That’s... creepy,” she says finally, still refusing to acknowledge the flutter inside of her. He didn’t _really_ pick her, she knew that, it was just because she sassed him after her bath and he wanted to put her in her place. He didn’t care, she _knew_ that. It was just a joke to him, she was just like every other random person he bedded.

He probably removed his mask for all of them too. She wasn’t special.

Vaylin wrinkles her nose. “Oh I definitely agree with you. He’s so _weird_ sometimes. Going all googly-eyed over some girl, it’s disgusting. He’s _Emperor_ ,” she says before sighing dramatically. “At least you’re the first one he’s ever moped about the next day. He was _insufferable_. But he was much worse after he went to Asylum. I thought killing Heskal would make him happy. What did you even do to him? Is he just mad you stole his stuff?”

Calli blanks, brain desperately sidestepping any implications Vaylin’s going with there about _feelings_. “Uh… are you... asking me about sex with your brother too?”

If she wasn’t so terrified of Vaylin, she might have found her disgusted flinch absolutely hilarious. “What?! Ew!” Vaylin shrieks, shuddering. “Why would I want to know that?!”

Calli shrinks back. “Hey, I don’t know! People keep asking me, okay, it’s fucking weird!”

Vaylin doesn’t appear to hear her, still looking horrified. “I don’t need to hear about you doing _that_ with my brother,” she hisses, suddenly remarkably like a feral cat. “This is not _fun_ , this is _weird_.”

Calli can only nod. This is an extremely surreal conversation and she really needs to get back to her slicing, or you know, _escaping the exploding ship_ , but she’s not stupid enough to turn her back on _Vaylin_. Also not stupid enough to continue teasing Vaylin, as much as the little sister in her is squirming to torment her further, similar to how she horrified Thexan. “When was this _fun_?” she says incredulously.

Her expression switches to a smirk, her mood shifting so fast Calli’s head spins to see it. “Oh, only a little while ago - when Arcann found out you were on the ship. He was pleased you know.”

Calli raises an eyebrow, definitely _not_ having a reaction to that. “Sure, except that nobody knew I was onboard until you walked in on me,” she says testily. “That’s the whole point.”

Vaylin pouts. “You really are no fun. How are you supposed to put a smile on his face when you’re so grumpy?”

She frowns. “Uh, I don’t think he would smile if he saw me anyway,” she says quickly.

Vaylin tilts her head at her for a moment, golden eyes narrowed in curiosity, before she smiles. “Good. Stay away from him.”

She blinks in confusion. “What?”

Her smile turns decidedly more feral. “ _Stay away_ from my brother. Everytime you’re around, you just make things _worse_ , and you don’t even care. Everything was fine before you ruined it. This is our home and you don’t have a place here.”

Calli scowls, gesturing out the window. “Actually no, this is _my_ home, and _you_ are threatening it, and _maybe_ if you didn’t want anyone being hurt you shouldn’t treat people like trash!”

She realises too late that maybe, _just freaking maybe_ , raising her voice at _Vaylin_ might be the dumbest thing she’s ever done.

Luckily Vaylin seems more taken aback than angry. “You lied to him. You don’t get to be angry.”

Her frown deepens, visibly trying to rein in her temper. “I didn’t lie,” she snaps. “And he wasn’t the one dragged away and _drugged to keep quiet_ , _okay_. I can be an angry as I want, that’s something he can’t take away from me.”

Her chest is heaving and she suddenly feels like crying, but she stubbornly refuses to, staring Vaylin down.

... but to her surprise, Vaylin is looking at her like she’s seen a ghost. “What?” she asks faintly. “He...he wouldn’t do that. Arcann… he _knows_ how that…”

Calli glares harder, swiping her hand across her face to definitely not wipe tears away. “Ask his stupid fucking people,” she sniffs. “They’re the ones who fucking sedated me to keep me quiet.”

Vaylin just keeps staring, and one hand moves to her other wrist, seemingly unconsciously. “He… he _wouldn’t_ ,” she says harshly. “You are _lying_.”

There’s a peculiar mix of vulnerability and building rage on her face and Calli has no idea what’s happening. “What do I have to gain from lying?” she snaps back.

She’s shocked to realise Vaylin is nearly shaking. “You’re LYING,” she snarls. “Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!”

The nearby console explodes and Calli instinctively moves her hand in front of her face at the light. “Hey!”

She hears her sister’s voice in her earpiece over the electronic crackle of the consoles, sounding panicked. _“Calli? Calli! Where are you? Where is Senya?”_

She lowers her hand to see Vaylin advancing on her, eyes red and expression _furious_ , but she stops instantly at the call as though she can hear it too. “Mother?” she asks faintly, before snarling. “Where is Mother?”

Calli blinks, stepping back. “I... I don’t know,” she says quickly, feeling distinctly like prey with nowhere to run as the consoles flicker ominously again.

“That’s not good enough. Where. Is. She!”

Senya’s voice jumps over the comm, sounding infinitely sad. _“Tell her,”_ she says softly. _“I’m near the control deck. I’m... I’m waiting for her.”_

Vaylin growls and Calli steps back again with tears in her eyes. “She.. she says she’s on the control deck,” she says quickly, backing up again. “She says she’s waiting for you.”

She’s sure she’s imagining the tears in Vaylin’s own eyes. “Good!” she snarls, stepping away and hissing at her. “I’ll deal with Mother. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

There’s an ominous phrase if she’s ever heard one, and she’s too scared to speak before Vaylin turns on her heel and leaves. And she knows she needs to get back to her hacking but she finds herself sliding to the floor and trying desperately to breathe again instead.

 

* * *

 

Arcann is loathe to admit it, but the Battlemaster might actually be his match, and the struggle to break her guard is far more difficult than he had thought. Perhaps he had been unfairly estimating her skills based on her sister - Lieca was both known for being less battle-inclined than her sister, and still recovering from carbonite poisoning at the time of their brief battle.

Speaking of which-

He spins to the right just in time to block the piece of debris Lieca hurls directly at him, shattering it with his lightsaber. The diplomat has mostly stayed out of the battle, and it is obvious that the sisters have not trained together in some time - the only explanation for her hesitance. But her mastery of the Force is near unmatched, and she has been rather crafty as she tries to intervene where she can.

He _feels_ the rush of her powers over Cera’s skin like a lightning bolt, and the Battlemaster suddenly moves faster than he was prepared for, putting him instantly on the defensive with her Force-enhanced speed. He tries to push her back and counter by throwing another piece of debris at Lieca, but his eyes widen to see a significantly larger piece heading for him instead, and he lunges out the way, ducking under Cera’s lightsaber as he moves.

As he smoothly jumps back to his feet, pivoting as he moves, his momentum puts him in a position to go on the offensive again; Cera’s speed sends her surging past him before she can correct herself, and it leaves her exposed to his attack. He leaps for the opening, slashing at her and grazing her left shoulder, and she stumbles forward with a cry, further leaving herself vulnerable to attack.

Unfortunately, he forgot that Cera’s close proximity while they duelled was the only thing keeping Lieca from acting against him in greater retaliation. He realises his mistake as he finds himself slammed against the wall hard enough to bruise, shakily trying to keep his feet under him when he lands awkwardly as the Force releases him. Lieca is watching him with wild eyes, her right hand tracking him while her left hand extends towards Cera, clearly directing healing energy by the fascinating _tug_ he feels on the Force. Cera then rolls her neck, twirling her lightsaber. “ _Enough_ , Arcann.”

But his ship is being attacked and Calli is apparently somewhere on board and his father’s vessel is _here_ and he _can't think straight_ \- all he has ever been trained to do is _fight_. Isn’t he just a rabid beast to all of them anyway? Lashing out and tearing at every hand that tries to cowe him, or pet him? “ _Never_ ,” he growls.

He tries to charge forward again, but Lieca catches him in place, and gods above he can feel the way her heart aches as though it was his own. “Arcann, it's over,” she says quietly, but he can see the strain in her face as he fights her hold over him.

“No!” he roars, breaking free and _jumping_ to meet Cera’s lightsaber again.

Battle is what he knows, even as every shuddering movement of the ship makes his adrenaline spike, the bombardment clearly growing in ferocity. Cera’s icy blue eyes give nothing away, even as they start to glow, but he can almost feel her emotions, as though from very far away. He can feel the rage in her, and it fuels his own, but he can also feel her sorrow, her hesitance, her pity.

_He will not be pitied!_

Both sisters suddenly curse and flinch, and through the bizarre link they seem to share, he feels first Lieca and then Cera’s distress manifest in a single panicked word - _Calli_. Cera didn’t falter for a moment, easily blocking the strike he’d been in the process of making, but _he_ does. He does when he hears Lieca’s panicked cry. “Calli? Calli! Where are you? Where is Senya?”

_Calli is in danger on his ship?_

His concentration broken, he does not block Cera’s next attack in time, and the hilt of her lightsaber smashes into the side of his head. There’s a crunch and a spike of pain as it crushes a section of his mask, pushing broken pieces of metal and electronics into his sensitive skin; there’s a flare inside the eyepiece, and the optical sensors cut out, leaving him completely blind in that side. It’s followed by a crackle that deadens the aural implants, and the abrupt loss of hearing sends him staggering back a few paces, the ship’s rocking not helping his suddenly disrupted balance.

Apparently the shields are no longer holding in any capacity, because the room starts to crash around them on a scale that far exceeds the dislodged ceiling tiles and distant rumbling of the last few minutes. He can vaguely smell smoke in the air, the charred sort of electrical smell that comes from sparking wires, and the adrenalin in his blood seems less from the thrill of combat and more from outright hysterical panic.

_He will not be pitied, he’s going to die, he will not die, Calli is going to die, Calli is going to die because of him, Calli pities him, they’re all going to die-_

There’s an excruciating screech of tearing metal, and he looks up just in time to see a huge metal beam come crashing towards him in a shower of burning sparks. He throws himself backwards, landing badly on his left side, the impact sending a surge of pain through him that leaves him momentarily breathless. The heat from the fire is unbearable, and he scrambles backwards on his hands, pressing his good hand to his ribs as he staggers back to his feet.

The debris is not impassable, not if one was desperate enough, but it’s certainly blocking his path to the door. Lieca and Cera stand across from him, Cera with her lightsaber still drawn but her other hand firmly wrapped in the sleeve of Lieca’s robe, holding tight as if to stop her from lunging personally into the flames towards him.

Ha. She’s so desperate to kill him - to see his father’s plans brought to fruition - that she’s ready to maim and injure herself in the fires just to have a chance at him. He will not give any of them that satisfaction - not Lieca, not Cera, not his father. Everything else has been taken from him in his life, his dignity and his self respect and his brother and his one pathetic moment of happiness with a woman who despises him... they will not take his death from him too.

“Arcann!” Lieca screams, desperately trying to pull away from her sister. There are tears in her eyes. It must be from the smoke.

Cera does not let go, despite the pity on her face too. “Damnit Lieca, if you die saving him I will kill you myself!” she snaps. “Calli needs us, and I won’t let you do this-”

“Arcann, please!”

Anything further is cut off as another section of the roof outright collapses, debris from the levels above smashing through with nowhere else to go.

Were he less injured and less tired of everything, he might have had the ability to use the Force to stop it from hitting him. As it was, he sees the brief flicker of a golden shield around the sisters before everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

Calli takes only a brief minute to pull herself together - there will be time to fall apart later, when she’s not on a ship that’s literally disintegrating around her.

Geralt calls through to her earpiece, sounding absolutely furious. _“Calli! The docking bay entrance has been destroyed. You’ll have to find another way to us babe, and I swear by every fucking god I know that you better make it.”_

She shudders, moving shaking fingers to the map to locate the other shuttle bays and escape pods. One thing at a time. “Where are the Sith?”

He snorts. _“Babe, your priorities need sorting. But they’re fine. Jezhara went stomping off for Lana and dragged her back a few minutes ago. Where the fuck are you?”_

She chokes back a laugh that comes out more like a sob. “Further down. But I think a hangar bay is close by. I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

Geralt seems about to say something else, but Cera cuts across him first; Calli’s legs nearly collapse under her in relief. _“Calli! Calli, where are you? Is Vaylin gone?”_

She nods, before realising Cera can’t see her. “It’s just me,” she says, swallowing. “Where are you guys?”

_“On our way-fucking, damnit! Ow ow ow, that hurt damnit, bloody ship - do you have a shuttle handy that we can hijack? If you send me the coordinates, we can meet you there.”_

Geralt’s voice cuts back in as she starts to send it through. _“If you think I’m just going to leave you girls here-”_

_“Geralt, you don’t have a choice. Get out of here, and we’ll catch up. Now!”_

_“I can’t raise Senya!”_

Cera makes a noise of inarticulate frustration. _“Damnit - she’s made her choice then! It’s time we make ours, and that is to get out of here, now! Lieca’s already nearly exhausted just maintaining this shield and we don’t have time to do more than get out of here ourselves. Don’t you dare make all of our kids lose a parent today!”_

The nearest console explodes again, this time from the forces of the ship’s destruction rather than Vaylin’s temper, and Calli rolls away from it, luckily towards the door as she shields her eyes. “What the hell happened?” she asks, definitely not nearly crying.

Cera’s voice is softer when she speaks again, though she’s clearly still running. _“He made his choice, and we’re making ours,”_ she says, her voice no less firm for all that she tries to speak gently. _“I am not allowing either of you to sacrifice yourselves for this boy who keeps refusing our offers of aid. Worry about him later, move now!”_

“Cera-”

_“Calli! Move it!”_

 

* * *

 

 

When Arcann comes to, everything hurts. His mask is still pushing his cybernetics into his face, his visual and audio enhancements completely destroyed. His entire body is in agony, his head and left arm most of all. One of the pieces of debris must have hit him full-on, as his cybernetic arm has been destroyed and fully torn from his body. His entire left side is a blaze of fire and pain and _gods_.

Funny, he’s spent years wishing to be free of that arm - only now that it’s happened, he wishes it could have been a little different. But wishes aren’t for someone like him.

He realises he can feel a hand on his cheek, and the gentle warmth almost startles him. The gesture is soft, intimate - who would have bothered coming here for him?

Why couldn’t they just leave him be!

He will _not_ cry. Everything hurts too much for crying. His chest already feels like it’s ripping open, no doubt due to the damage done to the supports for his arm. Everything is both too loud and too muffled at the same time, his thundering heartbeat in his ears mocking him for the blood it keeps pumping despite his best efforts to die.

It takes several long moments to realise someone is talking nearby, their presence on his injured left side making it even harder to hear them. “I wanted to _save_ you,” he hears and it’s his _mother_ and gods above and below, even after all these years, he would know her voice anywhere.

Of course she comes for him now, when there’s nothing left but a broken body and his hatred. It must be a dream, some vision his tormented mind is focusing on to forget the fact that he is utterly alone as he dies.

He can’t help the tear that traces down his cheek at the thought, and nearly breaks at the soft touch wiping it away. She’s still wearing gloves, but the sensation is more kind than any gesture he’s received in _years_ and it hurts so much.

But even injured and near-death, he cannot miss the buzzing sensation under his skin that means that Vaylin is close by. Her power is nearly always unpredictable, but that feeling of standing at the center of the maelstrom… it could be no-one but her. No matter what else is between them, she is _family_.

Did Vaylin come for him too? Why do they all only come to see him now, at the end of the line, at the irrefutable proof of his _failures_?

He tries to frown as he realises Vaylin’s power is even more frenzied than normal, wondering what could have caused it, when he hears her shout across the exploding room. “Mother!”

The hand on his cheek vanishes and he nearly sobs at the lost contact, stretching out blindly through the Force to feel Senya and focus on something other than how much everything hurts.

Senya speaks before Vaylin can, raising her voice over the room. “Vaylin! Please! Come with me. What happened to Thexan, to Arcann… oh my darling girl, I should have stayed. I should have stayed for all of you.”

Vaylin shrieks in fury, the power of her rage buffeting him through the Force. “Yes, you should have! But you didn’t! You were _weak_ , Mother, and _you left us_.” She then laughs, the sound so broken it makes his chest ache further. “But of course, it’s not surprising, is it? We’re not a family, not anymore. We just take and take until we don’t care anymore! You were never there!”

“I’m here now.”

Vaylin shrieks, the crawling under his skin almost unbearable now, and the nearby debris feels like it’s vibrating. “How fantastic for you, Mother! You finally came back for your precious son, after he’s been broken and dying. Even when he’s nearly gone, you still pick the shredded pieces of him over me! I was here, the whole time, and you… you just ran off for _him_!”

“Vaylin-”

She screams in inarticulate rage, and his teeth rattle in his jaw. “Stop it! I’ll never be what you want!”

He doesn’t need to see to know that she’s drawn her lightsaber, and the memory of a similar moment almost makes him freeze.

And finally, years later, he understands why Thexan made the choice he did. It wasn’t about protecting Father, it was about protecting _him_. Thexan died to save _him_ , not Father.

Mother deserves better than that. He won’t let Vaylin make the same mistake.

And so history repeats itself, except this time it’s Arcann pushing Vaylin away from their mother, instead of Thexan pulling him back from their father.

He doesn’t have time to think of the consequences until he focuses enough to see the rage in Vaylin’s expression, clear even across the room. And maybe she didn’t make a strike, but when she screams he can hear the echo of his own pain from all those years ago. “Why?!” she shrieks, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Why would you do this?!”

Senya steps forward, hands held forward in a placating gesture. “Vaylin, please!”

But his sister doesn’t want to listen, the storm of hate and sadness and fear and self-loathing familiar enough that it takes him a few moments to realise it’s coming from her and not him. Vaylin _screams_ and the Force answers, emanating a shockwave powerful enough to blow Senya completely off her feet even as Vaylin starts to laugh brokenly.

The exploding ship answers by collapsing further still, the ceiling caving in right where Vaylin was standing, in heedless disregard of his mother’s scream of grief. “ _Vaylin_!”

He barely even notices Vaylin’s powerful presence leaving, too weak to keep his eyes open a moment longer.

 

* * *

 

Calli finds the twins halfway to the shuttle she’d sent them the coordinates for, doing her best not to collapse with relief at seeing them both unharmed.

Well, Lieca doesn’t look entirely well, pale and clutching her left side as if it pains her, with her eyes glowing near to white, but considering even she can see the shield shimmering around them all, she supposes she’s mostly just exhausted.

Cera takes the lead, clearly furious and worried, but also gentle as she pulls them both along. Calli barely allows herself to breathe until they reach the shuttle, the hangar on fire and collapsing around them. She helps Lieca to sit as Cera all but leaps into the pilot’s seat, expression grim as she takes off at a speed that is far from safe, but understandable at the same time.

Gods above and below, there’s a reason she always tried to stop Cera’s interest in swoop-racing getting too far. She’s never been a particularly cautious pilot even at the best of times.

To her relief, Lieca hugs her close and refuses to let go, so she doesn’t feel at all bad about hugging her back. They’re both here, they’re safe, they’re alive, and it doesn’t matter what happened to Arcann because she has her sisters, and they all survived. For once, they all get a happy ending.

She tells herself it doesn’t feel happy right now because she’s just still feeling the adrenalin from her confrontation with Vaylin. That’s all.

Lieca grips her arm tight, eyes still faintly glowing a soft blue, as Cera waves at her to hack the shuttle’s comms to connect to the Gravestone and the community channel. “Koth, Raj, Theron, Lana! We’re out, someone give me something!”

Lieca shudders at the sound of Theron’s relief even through the comm. _“Tell me you’re all alright,”_ he all but yells, before the others can speak on the line.

Lieca raises her head, wincing as she touches her side. “We’re fine, Theron,” she says hoarsely, even though her expression is miserable.

Calli and Cera exchange a glance - they both know their sister well enough by now to know that she’s hiding something, and Cera suddenly looks so much older as she looks back to the debris strewn starfield before them, slowly shaking her head.

Lana cuts in, sounding frustrated. _“We’re out too. We waited for Senya as long as we could, but-_ ”

Calli barely hears Geralt’s frenzied Mirialan in the background before the comm crackles, and Senya’s voice jumps across it. _“I’m alive,”_ she says slowly, sounding very sad. _“But I won’t be joining you.”_

Lieca frowns and Cera hunches her shoulders as Koth responds in confusion. “What? Senya, where are you?”

There’s a long pause before she speaks, and Calli suddenly finds Lieca’s hand gripping hers tight. _“I’m… in Arcann’s personal shuttle. He’s with me.”_

Calli speaks before she thinks better of it. “Alive?!” she chokes back, and Lieca nods

Senya answers. _“Yes. And I’m taking him.”_

Cera curses, head down. “Senya, please. Don’t do this. Don’t turn your back on this Alliance and everything we’ve done. Think of all your son has done to us, you can’t just run and hide away!”

_“I never intended this. But I… I must do right by my family. He is my son and I must do what I can.”_

Cera starts shaking her head and Calli feels fear grip her heart. “Senya…”

_“He saved my life! He turned his back on Zakuul. Let me help him, let me take him away from all of this. Let me help him become the man he was meant to be.”_

Koth cuts in, his voice a literal snarl. _“No! You can’t do this!”_

Senya’s voice is steel. _“I’m taking him.”_

Lieca is shaking her head now too, and Calli turns panicked eyes to Cera. Her sister’s knuckles are white on the controls of the ship as she starts to turn it around, and Calli slowly pries herself away from Lieca to stand up. “Cera…”

Cera gives no indication that she heard her, immediately zeroing in on the shuttle leaving the flagship. She wonders how she even knows which one it is, before seeing the slightly guilty look on Lieca’s face, and realising Cera’s using their weird Force bond thing to track him.

She’s starting to feel slightly sick as the shuttle moves. “Cera!”

She quickly tunes out the angry words of the others, but stumbles as Cera suddenly accelerates, and Lieca catches her, her heart in her weirdly glowing eyes. “Calli…” she murmurs. “She won’t listen to me-”

“Senya!”

Calli and Lieca both jump at Cera’s call, and it’s a tone Calli’s never heard her sister use, desperate and sad. “Senya, stop!”

_“Shoot them down, Commander!”_

_“No, you’ll kill them both.”_

_“Senya, what are you doing?”_

_“Saving my son.”_

There’s too many voices and Cera is far too still and Calli is struggling to breathe. “Cera, please,” she starts brokenly.

Cera still gives no indication she’s heard her, eyes still on the shuttle ahead. “He killed my sister,” Cera whispers, and they both freeze.

Cera breathes out shakily, the sort of breath one lets out when one is trying not to burst into tears. “He took my sister away from us for five years, and then he killed her. He killed Thexan, and disowned him even after his own brother desperately begged him to let him back in, even after he tried for so long,” she says, clearly on the verge of sobbing. “He broke Calli’s heart. He tried to kill Lieca _again_. Why should I let him go? What more will he do to my family?”

_“He can change, I know he can-”_

Her voice is barely above a whisper now, shoulders shaking. “What if he can’t, Senya? What if he just keeps coming back and keeps hurting them and what if I can’t save them? What if I lose them again?”

Calli steps forward, trying not to cry as well. “Cera, please-”

She shakes her head. “What if I can’t keep letting people go, Senya? What if I’m tired of giving second chances only to be blamed for how much damage they continue to do? What if I can’t risk my family again?”

Her thumb moves towards the trigger for the ship’s guns, and Calli doesn’t even think, just leaps forward. “No!”

“Calli-”

She wraps her arms tight around her sister. “No, I won’t let you!”

“Get off me!”

“No! Cera you can’t, you can’t do this! Please, please don’t do this. Cera, I’m begging you. Please let them go. Please!”

Cera keeps struggling, but it’s only when Lieca’s arms come over her shoulders and hug her from behind that she stops. “Honey,” Lieca says, so sad and so tired. “Cera, please.”

Cera sobs. “Liss, I can’t-”

Lieca soothes her, holding her closer and kissing her forehead. “Shhh, I know.”

Calli realises she’s crying too, and kneels down to hug Cera’s other side. “Don’t hurt them, please,” she begs. “Maybe you’re right, and he won’t change. But maybe he will. Maybe he will get to be the person I thought I met. Senya deserves to find out, doesn’t she?”

She swallows, Cera’s hand still not moving back. “Thexan asked us to keep him safe. Please, please don’t hurt him. His family deserves to have him safely back too.”

Cera shudders, and finally drops the controls with a soft sound, burying her face in her hands. Lieca reaches over to tap the console. “Senya? We’re trusting you. Go.”

There’s a long pause. _“Your mercy will be remembered. Goodbye,”_ Senya responds, and the shuttle jumps to hyperspace.

Lieca turns off the comm and goes back to hugging both of them, Calli trying desperately hard not to think too much about what just happened.

It helps when she reactives the community channel, and hears Lana shouting over Koth’s anger and Geralt’s furious bluster. _“Look, forget about them! In case you have forgotten, SCORPIO is still out there, and we should still be very much worried about the Fleet!”_

As though on cue, all three sisters look out the window to see the Fleet charging up and Cera curses through her tears before taking control of the shuttle again. “Lana, you jinxed us,” she teases, the words coming out half slurred from her tears; she spins the shuttle in place with the same sort of ease that would make a professional racer green with envy and slams the shuttle into action, fleeing as fast as possible towards the dubious safety of the Gravestone.

Geralt curses over the comm. _“Fucking useless slow-ass shuttles. Theron! Babe! You wanna get that Omnicannon working now or what?”_

Theron growls, presumably at the privateer. _“Working on it! And I’ve told you to stop calling me that!”_

Geralt makes a smooching sound into his comm that would almost makes her laugh in any other situation; right now her head is throbbing and her heart is aching, and she just wants to crawl into bed somewhere dark and private and bawl her eyes out for a good couple of days.

And then the Gravestone starts to fire and everything ends up in a bit of a blur as she clutches her sisters close and tries to hold on to hope.

From the way Lieca grips her arm, she knows exactly how she’s feeling.

The Omnicannon hits the Fleet with enough staggering force that she can almost feel it herself, and everything is a rush of light and power as the Fleet starts to explode.

When she can finally see again, the Gravestone and their shuttles are alone, and she’s never been so happy to look out a window and see Alderaan in her life.

Predictably the arguing starts again almost immediately, but Lana interrupts them all, sounding very tired. _“Let’s just head back to the surface. It’s been a very trying day.”_

 

* * *

 

The last thing he hears before he falls unconscious is Calli’s voice, begging for his life.

It’s not a bad way to die, in the end.


	24. Port Nowhere

The shuttle back onto the Gravestone seems to take both a lifetime and barely any time at all, and she’s still all but wrapped around her sisters as Cera slowly docks the shuttle, still sniffing occasionally. She doesn’t want to think about the fact that everyone would have heard her begging for Arcann’s life. Just because they were muted doesn’t mean they couldn’t hear, and they obviously knew Cera didn’t take the shot and just…

Can’t she stay here and hug her sisters forever rather than go outside?

To her surprise, neither of them move to leave as the airlock disengages. She thought for sure that Lieca would rush off to reassure Theron. But instead, she just draws Cera closer into the hug as she releases the ship’s controls.

“I’m so proud of you,” Lieca suddenly murmurs into their little circle, her eyes shining when Calli lifts her head up to look at her. “Both of you. I love you and I’m so proud of you.”

Cera sniffs, though her eyes are clear now. “I still don’t like him,” she says crossly. “But I… I get it, now.”

Calli frowns. “Get what?”

Cera chuckles weakly. “She leaves me for five years and I forget her relentless optimism about saving people,” she teases at Lieca, flicking her forehead. “But I think she might be right. Hopefully. Or I’ll kick his ass again.”

Lieca’s expression only changes for a moment, but she can still spot the smug satisfaction; Calli ignores the underlying message in Cera’s words and rolls her eyes at her instead. “Again? What did you do?

Cera sighs. “Smashed him in the face with the hilt of my lightsaber,” she says with a slight wince, before turning a soft smile on her. “Nobody hurts my baby sister and gets away with it.”

She’s strangely touched, even as the thought makes something in her chest ache. Definitely not at the thought of Arcann in pain. “What you said…”

Cera’s face falls. “Oh honey, you didn’t have to say it,” she says, cupping her face. “We knew. And I’m… I’m sorry.”

Calli sniffs. “But you said… that means _feelings_ and I- I _definitely_ didn’t have those, and-”

Cera sighs and draws her closer into the hug. “He still hurt you,” she murmurs into her hair. “I just happened to be first in line to kick his ass.”

As though her words have summoned them, there’s suddenly a banging at the airlock door and Cera sighs. “I thought they would let us have a few minutes at least,” she says grumpily.

Lieca shrugs, kissing both of their foreheads. “No such luck I’m afraid, my darlings,” she says softly. “Do you think Geralt would mind terribly if I threw the door at him?”

Calli lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. “That doesn’t sound very nice,” she scolds, and her sister winks at her.

“It would stop the questions,” she says sagely. “Come on girls.”

Cera huffs, and they slowly untangle themselves from the pilot’s seat as Lieca straightens her shoulders. “If we walk out there with our heads held high we can hopefully get through this without more questions,” Cera says, readjusting her lightsaber on her hip.

Lieca smiles. “That would be best yes. At least the Fleet seems gone too… perhaps the Duke will let us stay a bit longer now.”

Calli sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “You are relentlessly optimistic,” she observes.

Lieca nods. “It helps,” she says softly, and Calli notices her hand is pressed protectively against her left side.

“Are you hurt?”

Lieca seems confused for a moment before shaking her head. “No. But Arcann is and it’s… it’s complicated.”

Her heart lurches into her throat.

Cera snorts, breaking the tension. “I’ll say. But we’ll worry about that later. Come on, before Geralt or Theron kick the door down.”

Calli gives her a weird look, not entirely willing to let this conversation go, but understanding Lieca is probably a bit anxious to calm down her clearly panicking boyfriend. Cera probably just wants to get home to her own family too.

So when Cera kicks the door down hard enough to knock Geralt over and Theron just sidesteps him and rushes to Lieca to nearly knock her over with a hug, she stays silent. Geralt quickly recovers and comes rushing in to spin her off her feet, and she laughs breathlessly, unable to stay so out of sorts with her best non-Wookiee friend nearby.

Cera wanders outside to talk to Lana, judging from the murmuring she can hear, and she pulls a face at Theron immediately pulling Lieca closer to kiss her hard. Geralt chuckles as he sees her line of sight, and spins her around again so she can’t see them. “Are you alright, Cal?” he asks softly.

She tries to smile cheerily, but the serious look on his face says she isn’t fooling him. “Just a few bruises,” she replies awkwardly.

Geralt raises his eyebrow. “And otherwise?”

She tucks her arms around herself. “I will be,” she says shortly. “It’s not like it should be bothering me at all.”

He raises a hand to gently brush away a tear she didn’t even know was on her face. “I know babe,” he says sadly. “You know I’m here to listen if you want, right?”

She nods, already looking away and pretending she doesn’t care. “I know,” she says shortly. “I just… not now?”

He nods, slinging his arm over her shoulders and kissing her forehead. “Of course,” he answers gently, slowly directing her outside the ship. “Now! Who wants vacation time?”

Cera and Lana pause to look at him, Cera’s arms wrapped around herself and looking rather annoyed. Calli breaks free to move to her side again, Cera’s arm immediately moving around her waist. “A break would be nice,” her sister says tiredly. “Did someone call the families?”

Koth’s voice answers over the intercom. “ _Called as soon as you hit the Gravestone,_ ” he says cheerfully. _“We figured you didn’t want them near the house with the droid, so they’re staying put, but getting antsy.”_

Raj then speaks up, apparently leaning over Koth from the spluttering from the Zakuulan. _“Also I think Calinda and one of the twins have taken Thexan hostage for cookies,”_ he says slyly, and Cera chokes back a laugh. _“Doctor Kimble seemed rather agitated on the call and I could hear Lieca’s girl and the other twin calling out instructions. Can your husband bake?”_

Cera shakes her head, lips twitching. “Not in the slightest. Thexan may never escape.”

She then hears Lieca laughing, and turns to see her exiting the shuttle too, eyes sparkling with Theron hovering quite close behind her. “Well, I suppose it is up to us to rescue them, then,” she says cheerfully, one hand still pressed to her side. “I don’t want to take the Gravestone to the house in case it’s being watched - if we head back to the Organa estate, I can smooth things over with Tai and the others. You can take the shuttle back to the kids. I’ll only be an hour or two behind.”

Cera shoots her twin a suspicious look, but nods. “Alright. Geralt, Calli - you’re with me. Let’s go save our friends from our terrible offspring. I think I need to go hide in my room for a week and never come out.”

Calli nods in agreement and tenses, before realising that everyone is studiously pretending not to notice her, and she frowns. Humiliation begins to trickle through her veins, and she’d love nothing more than for the seals over the airlock to fail right now and jettison her into the vacuum of space, so she doesn’t have to deal with everyone trying desperately to pretend they didn’t hear her sobbing as she begged for Arcann’s life. She catches Geralt’s eye first, and whatever he sees in her face, he immediately lifts his hands in the air as if in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” he says cheerfully, though his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Maybe they will be lucky enough to get a breather for now… and she can curl up somewhere dark and forget how stupid she’s been over a boy who tried to kill her sisters, again.

 

* * *

 

Even storming into her own throne room, Vaylin still feels like pacing. The time since she woke up on Arcann’s flagship, to find Arcann gone, _Mother_ gone… it all feels like a strange blur. Like it happened to somebody else. Somebody else who screamed and caved in half the ship herself before stumbling to a shuttle and escaping. Somebody else who beat on the walls of the shuttle as she felt Arcann’s presence moving further away from her for the first time in _years_.

Fine, maybe they had been apart before, but not since… _that place_ has she so keenly felt the presence of her family walking away from her. The emptiness, the loneliness. Arcann leaving on his ship to go with Father to meet the ‘ _Outlander_ ’, that was different! _This_ was different!

 _Poor Vaylin_ , left all alone because her stupid brother chose their mother over her. Never mind that it was _Vaylin_ who supported him all this time and listened to his stupid rants and made him eat properly and chased away his dumb conquests at his insufferable parties. Never mind that it was _Vaylin_ who trained his troops and chased the Knights around and ordered his armies. Never mind that it was _Mother_ who walked away years ago without a backwards glance because she just didn’t care. Stupid Arcann, so desperate for a tiny bit of affection he’d go running off with the first person who looked after him. As though she hadn’t, for years!

Augh!

At least it wasn’t that Calli girl again. Arcann was being ridiculous, getting all tangled up in some girl like she meant something. She knew the truth. She knew that girl was just using him and lying to him and trying to hurt him. It’s all anyone ever did to them, and now that she’d met her, she definitely knew it was true, since that stupid girl had told stupid lies about Arcann. Everyone just wanted to hurt them. Why should this time be different?

All they’d had was each other and that was enough, wasn’t it? But nooo, that idiot girl had to go talking about drugs and consent and damnit if her back hadn’t felt like she was being thrown against a wall. Arcann, he... he wouldn’t! He was her _brother_ , there was no way he’d do something so awful to somebody else. He was the only one alive who understood, he’d _rescued_ her from that place. He would never do something like that to someone else…

... would he?

Rather than think about it for a moment longer - as though it hadn’t been running through her head in a loop since she fled her brother’s flagship and the Fleet brought her home - she pulls out her lightsaber as she heads towards the throne.

She almost misses a step at the sight of the droid sitting politely in it, looking far too much like the GEMINI droids for her to be truly comfortable. She saw the damage to the flagship, she knew the Fleet turned on them instead of the Outlander, even if she doesn’t understand _why_.

Nothing makes sense anymore! Why did Arcann _leave_??

The explosion of the Skytrooper to her left from her temper barely even registers in her mind, and she doesn’t even flinch. But on the other hand… that sounds like a good idea.

She’s smashing the remaining skytroopers into the ground even before she’s really aware of it, the turrets similarly laughable in their pitiful attempts at defence.

She’s definitely not crying as the last one falls, there’s only laughter in her voice. The High Justice never cries, only cackles with glee as she destroys her opponents. She’s read all the stories. She’s seen all the vids. She’s read all the reports. She’s read everything.

Anything to take her mind off itself.

Although… maybe not High Justice anymore. With Arcann gone… he can’t be Emperor anymore, can he?

The thought almost makes her stumble as she spins in place with wild eyes, looking to that droid again.

The Throne belongs to her family (never mind how they all left her), and without family that means it’s hers. All hers. Nobody else to share it with. Nobody who wants to share it with her.

No droid is going to take that away. She can’t kill Mother right now... but this droid is in her seat.

“What do _you_ want?” she shrieks at the Throne, lightsaber still ignited and glowing a furious gold. The colour reminds her of her brothers too much. Both gone, both left. She’ll change it soon. She’s going to be unique, special. Even without them. _Especially_ without them!

Walking towards the Throne and seeing a stranger sitting there makes something twist unpleasantly in her chest, and whatever that feeling is, she does not like it.

The droid says nothing. But Vaylin has played this game before, and will not be underestimated by some person trying to shame her into embarrassing herself just because she hates the silence. “You are in my seat,” she sniffs, trying to sound as haughty as possible.

The droid’s eyes glow, and she really doesn’t like it. “Are you here on your brother’s behalf?” the droid asks snidely.

It even sounds like the GEMINI droids, ugh. She draws herself up higher. “No. I am here for me. I am Empress now,” she says, trying to wrap her tongue around the foreign phrases.

She doesn’t want it, she really doesn’t - but there’s no one else left. Better her than this droid. It’s her turn now. This is... this is what she should want, right?

The droid sits forward, it’s tone far too close to her old jailers to do anything other than put her more on edge. “I too have been forced to obey lesser beings,” the droid says, trying to sound soothing and calm and it itches along her skin. “Those who tried to hinder my power and potential-”

“You’re still in my chair.”

The droid stares at her, and she glares back. “I am Empress, not you, _Lady of Sorrows_. Get out of my chair.”

She hates trying to read droids - they lack the Force, and the facial cues she’s used to seeing in others (and ignoring when they get too much). But the droid almost seems impressed, and she tries not to puff up at the implied praise. “I did not take the throne to rule your Empire,” the droid continues, and now it’s sounding like Father, condescending to her, and she wants to scream. “I merely wanted to free my children, the GEMINI captains-”

“I don’t care,” Vaylin snarls, trying not to shake. “Get out of my chair!”

The droid pauses and they stare at each other in a stalemate for a long moment. Just as Vaylin considers throwing her lightsaber, the droid sighs and stands up.

“My children were free, until the Alliance attacked,” the droid says bitterly. “I commanded the Fleet, and tried to broadcast the order to free them… but the Gravestone intercepted my call and destroyed it. The attack on the Fleet… I cannot regain control, all of the codes have changed.”

Vaylin frowns in confusion. “What?” Coding is just… completely beyond her. Why bother learning code when the droids do what they’re told or get smashed to pieces?

“The Gravestone is connected to the Eternal Fleet. When the Gravestone attacks the Fleet, it wipes all existing orders and controls. It also sends a self-destruct sequence to the nearest ships. I cannot circumvent that control without the throne… and the throne only responds to organic users.”

Ah. This makes sense now. “So you need my help,” Vaylin sniffs, lifting her nose slightly. This is more familiar, she knows what to do here. They will use each other and despise each other and all will be normal.

The droid inclines its head slightly, as though barely wanting to acknowledge it. “Yes.”

She tries to think about what Arcann would say, ignoring the pang in her heart that thinking of her brother causes. He abandoned her first. “Very well. I shall consider this,” she says magnanimously, settling on the chair and trying very hard to pretend she belongs there. “But I don’t trust you. You have to prove your worth to me.”

The droid doesn’t move for a moment, and Vaylin forces herself not to fidget. “Fine. We will work well together, Empress Vaylin.”

 

* * *

 

Senya tries to stop herself from pacing, but she knows that she is running out of time, and there’s not like there’s much else for her to do in this tiny shuttlecraft. Her own rudimentary healing abilities are keeping Arcann from deteriorating further, but he also isn’t getting any better. They have limited fuel and supplies, the shuttle not designed for long solo voyages, and she has no idea where to go next. Everyone she knows that might be able to help is tied to the Alliance, and she just cannot trust that they will look after her son. He needs time, she _knows_ he will make the right choice, he _saved_ her.

This man, this person who was Emperor and destroyed so many lives… he’s still her little boy. She can’t walk away from him, not again. He _needs_ her.

Arcann has been restless since their escape from his flagship, slipping into delirium as his wounds refuse to seal properly. It’s been a task and a half to keep him still and on the foldout bed on the tiny shuttle. And the few times his mumblings are coherent enough for her to understand, it breaks her heart. Mumbling about her, and Thexan, and Vaylin. Even Valkorion.

Hearing her voice seems to soothe him, so she’s taken to humming and singing soft lullabies as she looks after him. Stroking his hair and pushing everything she can into whatever healing abilities she knows. She tries to copy the way she’s seen Lieca use the Force to heal, but the Force does not respond to her that same way, and she feels sluggish and useless in comparison.

His forehead scrunches up again and she realises that she has stopped singing when he speaks. “Mother?”

She instantly moves to his side, catching his remaining hand in hers and clutching it tight. “Yes Arcann?” she asks, hoping desperately that he might be awake enough to recognise her now.

His eyes are glassy, the left one completely fogged over with blindness. “Mother…” he murmurs again, and she feels the hope drain from her even as she tries not to let him see.

Gods above, she really has no idea what to do. They need help, _Arcann_ needs help, and she’s panicking and trying not to show it. The navcomputer is still blinking at her, reminding her she needs to choose a destination.

“I don’t know where to go,” she says softly as she looks at it, still clutching her son’s hand.

Arcann moans softly, his face still pinched in pain. “Port… Port Nowhere,” he slurs, somehow sounding determined despite his obvious pain.

Senya frowns, even as her heart leaps to hear him speak coherently. “What?”

“Port Nowhere,” he says again, insistently.

She’s still confused for a moment before she remembers an old conversation with Calli, the young woman shyly offering her security codes to her home base. _“It’s a neutral station - Geralt runs it now. Anyone who knows where it is can use it. Plug this into any navcomputer and you’ll find it. But, uh, no arresting anyone if you do ever go there. Lots of smugglers and criminals and, uh, forget I said anything. But don’t arrest them! Geralt has to have people to scam or he starts getting a bit antsy.”_

She pulls her datapad out of her pocket, staring at it for a moment longer before looking back to her son; Arcann’s eyes are closed again, though he shivers as if with fever. “Why do you know about this place,” she says quietly, not really expecting a response.

And why does he want to go there?

 

* * *

 

Theron runs his hands through his hair repeatedly as he moves, fretting as he tries to figure out what to say. He loves Lieca, he knows he does, and they finally said it to each other again and it was all out in the open - and then she nearly fucking _died_ on him again.

Of course, being Lieca, she’s still all calm about the entire thing, seemingly not at all worried about how close he came to losing his entire world. _Again_.

He grits his teeth and cuts through one of the unused guest rooms to take a shortcut. He knows his own feelings were hardly the only ones at stake - _Force_ they nearly lost all of them, and all of their kids and friends would have been devastated and who is he to decide he was the most upset?

Luckily the trip back to the house had been uneventful. Lieca was all soft smiles and sweet words to their other mini-alliance, reassuring them all that everything was under control and they would revisit after a short break to finalise what had been interrupted by a, you know, _planetary invasion_.

But no, sure, everything’s fine. Just fine. Peachy even.

He kinda envies how easily she can spin a room into all but eating out of the palm of her hand. Sure, he thinks she’s beautiful and sweet and clever and the most amazing person ever, but it’s always interesting watching other people fall under her spell too.

Soft earnest blue eyes and a winning personality, who is supposed to be able to resist that? And then she turned to him like what she had just done was nothing special and smiled at him as she told him she loved him again.

Perhaps it had been a little selfish of him to delay their trip to the family home afterwards but how was he supposed to resist _that_ without the risk of imminent death this time? She certainly didn’t complain, and he smirks to himself at the memory.

… probably not the best thing to be dwelling on when he’s looking for her daughter.

_Focus, Theron._

He finds Flissa playing with Ona’la’s girls, Flissa patiently playing cards with Jaelin (well, Ona’la is the one actually playing, holding the cards for the toddler who seems more interested in putting them in her mouth) while Anya and Nicola are babbling and appear to be having a pillow fight behind them. He grimaces at the sight - he wasn’t exactly looking for an audience here. The entire reason he’s waited this long is because this is the first time Lieca and Flissa have been separated since they got here.

Well, not that it’s forced by any means, it’s just that Lieca and Cera had to go make some calls and so Flissa agreed to stay with Ona’la down in the nursery, and… he can’t even stop babbling in his own head, can he?

It helps a little that Flissa visibly brightens when she sees him, carefully placing her cards down and jumping to her feet. “Hey Theron!” she says happily. “Why are you here? Weren’t you with Mama?”

He coughs awkwardly as she bounds over to him, the carefully crafted braids scattered throughout her hair bouncing as she moves. “Hey Flissa,” he says nervously, his voice almost cracking until he frowns. “Your mum didn’t need me hanging around, so…”

She frowns in confusion, hands shifting to her hips. “So…?”

Okay, perhaps not the best start to this kind of important conversation. “Can I… can I talk to you for a second?” he says quickly.

She raises her eyebrow, and Force, she really does look like her mother like that. “Okayyyyy…” she says suspiciously. “But I’m not helping on cookie raids!”

Ona’la laughs suddenly, and they both spin to look at her. She smiles indulgently, moving her finger to her lips. “I won’t tell anyone,” she says, purple eyes sparkling with laughter before she gestures at the cards. “Go on, we’ll wait to move til you get back.”

Flissa beams and then looks expectantly at Theron. “What didya want to talk about then?” she says, clearly puzzled.

He can practically feel Ona’la’s eyes on him, and it makes his palms start to sweat a little. “Uh, let’s go for a walk.”

She frowns, but quickly follows him. They’ve only been out in the hallway for a moment before she grabs his hand. “So, _are_ we going on cookie raids?” she says hopefully. “I promise I’ll help!”

He laughs awkwardly. “Um, I’m afraid not. I think I’ve been banned from the kitchens anyway.”

She deflates. “Oh,” she says sadly before squinting up at him, walking a little faster to keep up with his longer legs. “I don’t think that’s stopped us before, Theron.”

He winces and slows down. “True, true…”

“Theron, you’re being _weird_.”

His aimless wandering brings them towards one of the open rooms in the estate, which he dryly notes to himself is one of Lieca’s favourite places to relax, curled up on that chair right there, and of _course_ he ended up here by mistake.

Luckily she’s not here now. That would be awkward.

He runs his hands through his hair again and Flissa sighs in the aggrandized manner that only small children can manage. “ _Theron_.”

Hmm, perhaps sitting would be better, rather than looming over the girl. He quickly sits on the edge of the fountain in the centre of the room, smiling slightly as Flissa immediately climbs up to kneel on the edge next to him. “Did you and Mama have a fight?” she asks in a small voice.

He chokes, staring at her with wide eyes. “What? No. No!” he answers quickly. “Or, um, why would you say that?”

She still looks very confused. “You look like Uncle Archie when he’s in trouble again. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Her frown deepens. “Aunty Cera says that’s the problem sometimes, whatever that means,” she says, squinting at him suspiciously. “Are you _sure_?”

Theron twitches. “Yes, I am fairly certain I’m not fighting with your mother,” he says through gritted teeth.

She pauses. “What?”

He scowls and runs his hands through his hair again. Flissa then sighs again and shifts closer so she can reach up to touch his head. “ _Fiiiiine_. But stop being silly,” she says, grumpily pressing his hair down again. “Mama likes your hair the way it is.”

He can’t quite hide the hopeful note to his voice. “She does?”

Flissa shoots him a look that matches Calli’s default expression whenever she looks at him. “Theron, I’m eight, not stupid,” she says with all the lofty maturity that makes it clear that eight is just as good as twenty-eight in her head, still smoothing his hair back into place. “She plays with it all the time. She likes you and your hair.”

He grunts as her fingers catch on a lock of hair and she moves back to look at him expectantly. “There, all better.”

He nods in thanks, speaking before his nerves get the better of him again. “So, um, I told your mum I love her.”

Flissa gasps and beams almost immediately, glowing like the sun as she jumps to her feet again. “Really? Yay!” she declares, right before tackling him in a hug, and he feels at least one weight lift off his chest.

He grunts at the impact, but hugs her back just before she moves away and kneels down again, still grinning ear to ear. “Mama will be happy you said it back again,” she says happily. “She’s been waiting.”

He can feel himself blushing a little. “Wait, what? How… did she say something to you?”

Flissa sighs. “I could just tell,” she says before frowning; she holds up her fingers, frowning in concentration as she stares at them. “Wait, when did you tell her?”

Uh, okay. Because this isn’t weird at all. “Just before she went up to the-to the flagship,” he answers, trying to pretend as though the thought of that ship and what could have happened doesn’t still make his heart stop.

Her frowns deepens, and she wiggles her fingers as if she’s... counting? At first he thinks he’s offended her, or she’s upset about the flagship too and he’s about to apologise when she tilts her head at him. “I think that means Aunty Cera wins,” she says eventually. “But you can’t tell Mama.”

Now he’s definitely sure he’s blushing. “Wait, were they _betting_ on us?” he asks incredulously.

Flissa wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, Uncle Geralt kept trying to cheat too,” she says disapprovingly. Then she adopts a more neutral expression, and her voice is singsong, in the way that small children speak when saying something they’ve spent some time memorising. “But, um, what’s most important is you said it in the first place.”

He’s a little too horrified and embarrassed to respond and moves his hands over his face. “I need other friends.”

Flissa waits patiently for him to say something else, but eventually pulls his hands away from his face. “Theron, was that all you wanted to say?” she says. “Because I wanna go back to my game.”

And there we go, the nerves are back, and his chest is already aching and he hasn’t even said anything yet. “Um, no. I wanted to… ask you something.”

“Okay?”

He frowns. “Oh, and you can’t tell anyone else, got it?”

She lifts one hand to cross her heart. “Cross my heart,” she says sincerely. “What’s your secret? Tell me, tell me!”

He looks down for a moment. “What do you think… about me asking your mum to marry me?”

There. He actually said it out loud, and surprisingly, it doesn’t make him panic nearly as much as he thought it would. It feels… right. He’s nearly lost her, so many times now... he doesn’t want to wait any longer. He wants to be able to call her his wife. He’s been thinking about it every now and then, trying to decide what he wants. But this... it really does feel right.

And of course he wouldn’t ask Lieca if Flissa didn’t approve - he’s basically asking to be part of her family too. He’s known for years now - Flissa and Lieca are a package deal. If he wants to try to be a good husband for Lieca (wow that’s a terrifying concept) he needs to learn how to be a dad to Flissa too.

Not that he wants to replace her father, or is implying that she’s going to have to like him, or that Lieca will even accept him in the first place but... okay, now he’s just stressing for no reason and he hasn’t even gotten Flissa’s reaction yet.

Flissa’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates and she looks so excited she’s almost vibrating where she’s perched on the fountain’s edge. “Really?!” she squeaks.

He nods. “Yeah.”

She shrieks and all but tackles him in a hug this time. “Yes yes yes!” she says gleefully. “Oh oh, can I be the flower girl?”

He laughs awkwardly, hugging her back. “Uh, you know I haven’t asked your mum yet, right?”

She shrugs, still bouncing as she moves back. “But Theron, it’ll be so fun!”

“She might actually say no, Flissa,” he says, immediately wishing he hadn’t as the mere thought makes his stomach roll. It’s not like there’s no precedence there, and oh boy, now is really _not_ the time to think about that.

She gives him a look that could only be described as ‘ _duh_ ’. “This is different from Papa,” she says quietly, voice all serious before she lights up again. “Mama is sure now. I know she’ll say yes!”

“Flissa-”

“Plus! If you ask today, Aunty Risha wins, and Uncle Geralt has to buy her fancy jewellery. I heard them talking about it.”

Theron’s jaw drops. “More bets? Oh come _on_!” She grins at him and he deflates a little. “Fine. Do you know where your mother is?”

She tilts her head to the side, tapping her chin with one hand, aping her mother’s mannerisms a little too well. “I do. Buuuut... I want a piggyback ride. Or I won’t tell.”

He frowns at her. “You just want to tell her first, don’t you, you little sneak.”

She gasps. “I would never!” she says, scrambling over onto his back. “But I know where Mama is so you have to let me help.”

He slowly moves to his feet, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet to test his balance and tuck her more securely against his back. “You make a compelling argument,” he grumbles. “Where to, oh fearless leader?”

She giggles against his shoulder. “Full speed ahead!”

 

* * *

 

Calli giggles as her niece makes her next move, with her nephew Eskel curled up in her lap and sucking his thumb. Maybe she has spent the entire time since they got back hiding with the Drayen family rather than deal with talking to Thexan, but at least her niece and nephew are damn adorable.

And of course, she spent a lot of yesterday afternoon with Bowdaar too. The long cuddles before she went to sleep the night before certainly helped it feel a little less lonely in the dark by herself. Gods she’s such a drama queen, crying over _nothing_.

Calinda flicks her dark brown curls out of her eyes, eyes narrowed at the cards. “Aunty Calli, are you cheating like Daddy?” she says with a pout.

Calli gasps as Geralt laughs behind her, sprawled across the couch and reading a datapad. “I told you they’d catch you,” he says smugly.

Calli glares at him. “No sweetie, I’m not cheating. I only do that to people I don’t like, unlike your Daddy.”

Calinda frowns, leaning over to grab Calli’s hands and turn her arms over to check up her sleeves. The warm gold of the half-Mirialan kids’ skin stands out even more against her spacer-pale arms, and she resolves to go on a beach vacation as soon as she can. Preferably if it can be without busybody family all worrying about her being stupid over some dumb boy again, _ugh_.

“Daddy says he doesn’t cheat with us, he’s just lucky,” she says crossly, apparently satisfied that Calli isn’t cheating as she sits down again.

Calli winks at her. “What has Risha said about listening to Daddy?”

“Hey hey, don’t bring Risha into this!” Geralt splutters.

Calinda grins. “Mummy says Daddy is a sneaky thief, but she loves him anyway,” she says in a sing-song voice. “And if he lies to her, he’s gonna be in troooooouble.”

Geralt doesn’t have a response and Calli raises her eyebrow. “Uh-oh, did Daddy lose his treasury privileges again?”

Geralt scowls and Calinda’s grin widens. “He did! But Mummy won’t say what he did this time.”

Geralt sighs, shifting his knee to more comfortably prop his datapad against it. “That’s because you’re too young to hear it sweetheart,” he remarks absently, grinning slyly at Calli when he sees her roll her eyes. “If you start asking your mother about certain types of jewellery, I won’t just be in trouble, I’ll be dead.”

Calinda frowns in confusion and Calli smacks her forehead. “Oh for the love of… this better not be about pearls!”

Geralt’s expression is blank as he looks at her. “Pearls are Dubrillion’s highest, most valuable export, as you well know. You think I would make light of such a proud heritage?”

“Yes, yes you absolutely would. And ew ew ew, I do not need to hear this either and I _am_ old enough to!”

Geralt winks at her. “Well then, don’t ask so many questions Callistra,” he responds, in an eerie repeat of the same sing-song tone his daughter used.

She scowls at him and turns back to Calinda, who still looks confused. “Aunty Calli, what’s going on?” she asks suspiciously.

Calli sighs. “Your dad is being crude. Anyway, it’s your turn, pumpkin. Unless you want me to go again?”

Calinda immediately scowls too. “No! It’s my turn!”

Calli shrugs, and starts moving her hand towards the cards, purposefully leaning over too far to tip Eskel forward too and he starts giggling in her lap. “Are you sure? Maybe I should just go anyway…”

“No no NO!”

Calinda immediately makes her move and Eskel starts clapping, clearly gleeful at his sister’s show of temper, and she tweaks his nose. “Your sister’s being silly,” she notes.

“I am _not_. _You’re_ being silly!”

She knows better than to laugh at her angrily determined expression, and wisely turns her attention back to the cards, ignoring Geralt’s almost snort behind her.

They play in silence for a few minutes, Calli letting Eskel pick some of her cards and giving him a plastic ring to chew on when he starts trying to eat the discard pile. Geralt then makes a sudden noise behind her, and she turns to see him almost leaping off the couch before pulling out his holocom and activating it. “Guss, what have I told you about using the emergency line for Port Nowhere? You know I never actually promoted you, right?”

Calli giggles at Calinda as they both recognise the Mon Calamari’s voice. _“Yes, I do. Know that I mean. Anyway, it’s not important-”_

“Not important?! This is my baby we’re talking about here! Oh, please, tell me you didn’t leave Corso in charge, I can’t handle it.”

_“Uh, no. I, um, there’s kind of a bigger problem. Than Corso. Like, really big. Important.”_

Geralt sighs heavily. “Fine. Hang on one second - Calinda, listen to your aunty okay, I have to go yell at some stupid people,” he says to his daughter before turning on his heel and starting to leave the room. “Guss, tell Corso that if he tried to ‘ _rescue_ ’ the dancers again, I will throw Sparkles in the incinerator.”

_“Okay, I will, but that’s not it. I-”_

Anything further is cut off by the hiss of the door closing behind him and Calli grins at her niece. “Whataya say sugar, wanna go make a mess of the kitchen and blame Daddy?”

Calinda grins, the perfect imitation of her mother’s little smirk whenever she one-ups Geralt. “Do I get cookies?”

Calli nods, squeezing her nephew until he laughs again. “Of course. The ones with the most choc chips for us! Daddy can have the oatmeal fruit ones.”

Calinda nods sagely. “Daddy did say I have to listen to you,” she says primly.

Calli’s grin widens.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for Theron and Flissa to locate the room where Lieca is tucked away, even with Flissa occasionally directing him the wrong way. He playfully teases her about how the Force doesn’t know everything, and she responds by grumbling and poking his shoulder.

Theron tightens his grip on Flissa as he walks into the room, mouth turning down in a frown at the sight of Lieca in front of the active holocommunicator, one hand over her face and looking very tired. Flissa noticeably droops at the sight, and nudges his sides with her heels to direct him over to her mother’s side. “Mama! It’s us!”

Lieca turns, surprised, and damn he loves the way her entire face softens when she sees them. “Hi sweetie,” she says gently, smiling at Theron as he moves to stand next to her and she leans over to cup his cheek with her hand and kiss him briefly. “Hi love.”

She shifts to kiss Flissa’s cheek too while he flounders, and wow he’s so lucky she finds his stupidity endearing rather than annoying. “Are- are you free?” he asks hopefully.

As if to answer, the holo flickers behind her and his mother’s image appears there; he stiffens instantly. Flissa has no such awkward family bonding moments to worry about, and cheerfully waves. “Hi Grandma Satele!”

Theron just about chokes and the room suddenly goes silent enough to hear a pin drop. Lieca’s eyes are wide as she looks back to his mother, who seems similarly stunned, and _Force_ , he just wants to sink into the floor.

Also, Flissa - way to give the game away, and he bounces her on his back to show his annoyance, glaring over his shoulder at her. Lieca seems a little out of sorts, her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Satele, I-”

His mother raises a hand to stop her, shaking her head. “ _Not to worry, dear. We’ll talk more later,_ ” she says, before looking to Flissa. He’s not stupid enough to miss how she avoids him. Clearly they had been talking before he and Flissa got there. _“Hello Flissa. Are you behaving for your parents?”_

Flissa smiles brilliantly. “Of course!” she says, the very picture of innocence, and he immediately suspects trouble. “I’m glad Papa is back, I’ve missed him.”

Satele smiles. _“I’m sure he has missed you as well. No doubt he is very happy to see you,”_ she says gently before looking to Theron and he squirms uncomfortably. _“Hello Theron.”_

“Grandmaster,” he says shortly, and honestly the sad disappointed look on Lieca’s face hurts far more than Satele’s wince. “How’s Odessen?”

Satele pulls herself together rapidly, hands behind her back as she stares right ahead, and _damnit_ he hates how easily she and Lieca can both do that ‘ _aloof Jedi_ ’ shtick. _“Well enough. I was just discussing some business with Lieca. But I can see you are busy, I’ll call back later. Stay… stay safe, all of you.”_

The comm then disconnects, for real this time. Lieca is already pursing her lips at him and Flissa kicks him in the side with her heels again. “Theron, that wasn’t very nice,” she whispers loudly.

Lieca frowns. “Flissa, darling, that’s not for you to worry about. You know things are different for them, you can’t just force things to change to be what you want. You are ignoring Theron’s feelings.”

Flissa draws back, clearly in a bit of a sulk, and honestly he’s struggling to think of a less auspicious way to start this conversation. “It’s- it’s fine,” he finally says, feeling insanely awkward as he’s stuck between the two of them. “You, ah... you know how it is. I’m not worried about it.”

Lieca gives him a vaguely pained look, and he hears Flissa grumble in his ear, “Yeah, right.”

“Flissa!”

The little girl pauses, and then sighs. “I’m sorry, Theron. That wasn’t very nice of me and I should not have said it,” she says slowly. It almost sounds too rehearsed, but her arms tighten around him and so he knows she does mean it. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs, awkwardly patting her leg just before she starts to wriggle free and he kneels down so she can safely dismount. “It’s fine, Fliss.”

She skips around in front of him before he can move. “I don’t get it though. She’s your _Mama_.”

He winces, and Lieca steps forward. “Honey…”

He waves her off. “Hey, Fliss. You know family is more than blood, just look at yours. You like Tallina right? You like Geralt’s kids right?” he asks, and she nods, seemingly curious. “Well sometimes you love people who aren’t in your family and-”

“But they _are_ my family Theron.”

Lieca giggles and he sighs. “That’s kinda my point, stop ruining it,” he grumbles. “Sometimes your family isn’t related to you, but you love them anyway. And sometimes they are related to you, but you don’t really know them, so you…”

Flissa frowns. “Like Grandpa Orrin.”

He blinks, confused. “Hmm?”

Lieca kneels behind her, clutching her shoulder. “My father,” she reminds him quietly, before turning to Flissa. “It’s hard to love someone you don’t know. And Grandmaster Satele and Theron don’t really know each other. Our family is special because we do know each other and we love because of that. You can’t expect love to just be there, love grows on it’s own.”

Flissa’s frown deepens before something clicks and she brightens again. “Like you and Theron?” she says hopefully.

To his delight, Lieca blushes. “Yes, like me and Theron,” she says softly, shooting him a sweet smile.

Flissa suddenly looks delightfully sneaky. “Aunty Cera says you didn’t like Theron when you first met,” she says slyly.

He gapes at Lieca and she blushes harder. “Flissa!”

He shoots her a wounded look. “You didn’t like me?”

She is clearly flustered, glaring at her daughter. “Of course I did! But, I- you seemed like just another spy, and you wanted me to do all these questionable things and-”

“Well, now I do. Though I don’t recall you objecting,” he cuts in slyly.

Lieca glares at him, her face bright red. “Theron!”

Flissa looks at them both in confusion, and he schools his expression quickly. “Well, if it helps, I wrote you off as just another Jedi. I wasn’t really expecting... _you_.”

Flissa gasps. “You didn’t like Mama?”

He glares at her. “Hey hey, you started this! And honestly, you’ve met your mother. Everyone likes her! I just wasn’t expecting a _Jedi_ to be the personification of sweetness okay?”

“Aunty Cera says you almost fell over the first time Mama smiled at you.”

Lieca catches her around the waist, squeezing her. “Maybe you should stop listening to Aunty Cera,” she says, still red. “Besides darling, we were friends for years before we loved each other. You know that. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been with your Papa.”

She looks briefly chastised. “I do like being born,” she says primly. “But I bet Theron still thought you were pretty!”

He flushes as they both turn to him, their expressions matching as they each raise an eyebrow curiously. “I, um, of course. Your mother is very pretty.” Also really the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, but he may be a tad biased.

She beams, even as Lieca ducks her head and tucks her hair behind her ear. “See Mama, I told you!”

“Yes yes, Fliss, I believe you,” she says quickly, still obviously embarrassed. “But rather than continuing to embarrass me, did you two want something else?”

The butterflies in his stomach are back, and Flissa simply smiles beautifully. “Theron wants to talk to you about something,” she says guilelessly. “He couldn’t find you so I said I’d help!”

Lieca raises her eyebrow again. “Oh? What’s wrong?”

He swallows. “Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because you look like you’re going to be sick darling.”

Flissa makes a show of concentrating, wrinkling her nose. “Well, I don’t want to be here if he’s sick,” she says airily. “Bye!”

And with that his last excuse runs out the door, leaving her mother blinking in confusion after her before she looks back at him. “I… what was that all about?”

He shrugs, shifting uncomfortably on his knee as it realises he’s already been kneeling too long to talk to Flissa. “I… don’t know.”

She gives him a flat look. “Theron, you’re a terrible liar sometimes,” she observes, before scooching closer to kiss his cheek. It’s amazing how much the gesture relaxes him. “But I love you anyway.”

He coughs awkwardly as she stands up again, dusting off her skirts. He wants to stay kneeling, because he’s pretty sure that he’s supposed to, but his knee is really starting to hurt. And it’s probably weird if he has this conversation while he’s still kneeling when she’s standing up again. And he should probably say something rather than just blurt it out unnecessarily. “I… love you too.”

Force, his knee really does hurt, and he awkwardly gets to his feet again, cursing his own lack of planning here. Lieca immediately steps closer to press the back of her hand to his forehead, and he nearly jumps at her proximity. “Theron, are you alright? You’re acting strange.”

He swallows. “I’m fine.”

Her hand moves from his forehead to cup his cheek, running her thumb over it. “Theron…”

He moves his hand up to cover hers, closing his eyes for a moment as he tries to think. It’s always harder to get his thoughts straight when she’s standing so close, still making his heart skip so many beats even years after their first kiss. “I love you. So much.”

When he opens his eyes again she’s smiling, though she still seems a bit confused. “I love you too,” she answers, shifting up onto her toes to lean up to kiss him. “Any particular reason why though?”

His hands move to her waist, pulling her closer. “You- you almost died again,” he says roughly, hating the way her expression falls. “You asked me to stay on the Gravestone while you went to talk to someone who already killed you once, and then you nearly died again. I nearly got you killed because I couldn’t work the Omnicannon in time. And I just... _Force_ , I was so close to losing you again.”

She immediately moves forward to hug him, her arms tight around him. “Oh, Theron,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

His arms tighten around her too, and it’s somehow easier when he can’t see her distracting face. “I don’t want to wait anymore. If I wait, there’s too much chance that something else will happen and you’ll be gone, and I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting it and-”

“Theron, I-”

“I want us to get married.”

He can _feel_ the way she tenses at his words, a muffled squeak against his shoulder. But he doesn’t give her time to question it, the words spilling out of him. “I love you, and I honestly do want to spend my life with you, and if I wait until I stop feeling like an idiot around you, I’ll be waiting forever, so, uh, yes. I want this, and, um, do... you?”

She draws back a little bit, blue eyes wide and he can’t stop babbling. “I mean, _kriff_ it’s not like we’ve talked about it before, but I didn’t want to scare you off and I had to get through my own head first and you know that’s not an easy thing to do and, um, I asked Flissa and she said she thought it was okay and I wanted to make sure she did because I know you’re a package deal and I might not ever be ready for that whole parenting thing, but I really _really_ want to try and-”

Thank the Force she cuts him off with a kiss, stealing his breath away in a far better way than his own jumbled thoughts and mumbling speech can. When she draws back she’s smiling, and his heart skips a beat. “Yes,” she says simply.

If he wasn’t standing still and wrapped so close around her he might have stumbled. “What?” he says instinctively, voice _way_ squeakier than he wanted in this moment.

She giggles, and gods above her eyes are starting to shine. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she says again.

He doesn’t even think, just hugs her so tightly he can lift her and spin her around in the air, and she laughs breathlessly against him before he kisses her hard. “I love you, so so much,” he mumbles against her mouth.

She grins, running her hands up his neck and behind his ears, soothing him as she always does with her touch. “I love you too.”

They stand there like that for a long while, simply holding each other and exchanging soft kisses before he realises something. “Uh, I don’t have a ring.”

She giggles again, looking amused when she leans back. “So this was a spur of the moment decision?” she teases.

He flushes, releasing her hip to rub the back of his head awkwardly. “Uh, a little? But I have been thinking about it for awhile.”

She grins. “Hmm, you are sneakier than I give you credit for sometimes,” she says coyly, before her smile turns blinding. “I’m glad you asked Flissa.”

He exhales against her. “I’m just glad she said yes,” he mumbles, rubbing his nose on hers.

“Theron, you do know she all but adopted you years ago, right?”

He blinks, startled. “What?”

She just laughs again, hugging him tight. “Oh I love you,” she says happily, before her smile turns softer. “Husband.”

He grins too, and lifts her off her feet to spin her around again until they’re both breathless with laughter.

 

* * *

 

Geralt waits until Calli and his kids are out of earshot before turning back to Guss, re-entering the nursery for privacy. “Guss, slow down. What did you just say?”

_“Um, well, you see-”_

“Guss!”

_“Okay okay, sheesh. A Zakuulan shuttle just landed here. And the pilot is definitely that Senya lady you told us to watch out for. So, what do we do?”_

Geralt runs his hand over his face. This is _not_ what he wanted to be dealing with right now. “Are you positive it’s her?” he says through gritted teeth.

Guss nods. _“She matches the video profile you sent through. I mean I don’t understand you weird humans, but I think she might be pretty? The Mirialan next to her at the bar certainly thinks so, even with that hood up. He should probably be cut off soon though. A little bit too much to drink there. Ooh, maybe he thinks she’s someone else?”_

Geralt sighs. “Guss, please, focus. Who else knows that she is there?”

_“Ah, well, I… don’t know. Nasser is on duty now so he’s controlling the docking bays? And I think Shyamal is running the books. Though I’m also sure he’s smuggling for the Ascendency again. He seems dodgy to me.”_

“Guss, you’re on a pirate ship, everyone is dodgy. Also, way to stereotype there.”

_“It’s not stereotyping to say a Chiss is stealing for the Chiss if he is though!”_

“Hmm, whatever. Send me through the ship manifests, I need to think,” he says distractedly, flopping down on the couch again before mumbling to himself. “How did she even know where to find the station?”

_“Ah, I know the answer! You see, she, uh, had Calli’s auth codes.”_

Geralt’s eyebrows lift. “What? Calli’s? Are you sure?”

There’s a _beep_ as Guss transfers the requested files over, and he starts going through the list as Guss talks. _“Yes, it’s definitely hers. We only changed them recently, after she escaped from Zakuul. They’re her codes, and even the appropriate friend-or-foe designation. Which is weird. I didn’t think she’d be friends with that weird old Emperor’s... ex-wife is she? How did that even happen?"_

Geralt shrugs, still looking through the ship listings. “It’s a long story,” he murmurs distractedly. “Oh, and Shyamal is definitely smuggling again. Up his fee 100% and if he protests, tell Giradda what he’s been up to. That bastard Ferrer has been charging us through the nose for everything, and if Giradda’s little armourer has been doing a side-business and not giving up his cut, I won’t have to wring his neck myself.”

_“Uh, sure, you got it boss. How do you know?”_

“He’s been coming to the station far too often lately for how little money I can see going into Giradda’s account,” he says, eyes on at least two different lines of datastreams. “And I won’t… hang on, is Dia’ayla there too?”

_“Let me check… oh yeah. She landed a few hours ago. She’s refusing to leave her ship though, says she’s already going to be late for work and she gives us enough business we should be refueling the ship for her.”_

“Oh, that’s a bit rich.”

_“I know! But she also said if she was late we’d have to talk to Elsie and I... don’t want to do that again. She’s scary.”_

Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a frustrated sigh. On the one hand, they know exactly where Senya and her stupid fucking useless son are. He literally has that information in the palm of his hand, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s trapped some moron on his station until people that pay a lot more than them pay the bounty to get them shipped off as required. This time he won’t even need payment, just the satisfaction of trapping them.

Arcann made Calli cry. Arcann seduced her and used her and even though she won’t talk about it, he knows it didn’t end well. His little sister is crying and hiding away from her family because that monster hurt her. Let alone what he’s done to the rest of the galaxy. Anyone would thank him for handing Arcann over like a lamb to the slaughter. Anyone would thank him for fucking punching him in his stupid smug face.

But the thought of Arcann dying also made Calli cry. She _begged_ Cera to save his life. She won’t talk to any of them about it, getting that wounded look with her heart in her eyes whenever anyone makes mere mention of their escapees. Looking like a trapped animal at the mere thought of having to talk about him, and running to the safety of Bowdaar’s arms while he and the Wookiee exchange looks over her head.

He hurt Calli. He broke her heart. The Alliance needs to track him down. Calli wants him alive. Lieca wants him alive. Cera wants him alive to kill him. Everyone wants him alive to kill him. He and Bowdaar just want to break his bones for hurting Calli.

But Calli is still crying.

He curses wildly, already so furious at his decision. “Guss, get me Dia’s ship. And don’t tell _anyone_ about Senya being on board alright? Get her back to her ship, now. Give her whatever she wants.”

_“Boss, are you sure? She’s kinda mad-”_

“Did I stutter? Connect me to Dia’s ship!”

 

* * *

 

Dia’ayla sighs as she flicks through the latest medical journal, making another annotation of yet another error in the report.

Honestly, no wonder so many doctors from the academy are completely worthless if they’re reading this garbage. Who authorised this for publishing, a hack doctor from the backwater of the Outer Rim?

To her annoyance she then receives a message from Ysaine with her already completely annotated list of errors in the same report, and she scowls and closes hers. She really thought she’d have her beat this time, but she must be on Rishi again to be awake already. Damn, she’s good.

The second message of a _‘better luck next time! ;)’_ does little to ease her annoyance, and she sighs and gets to her feet to head over to the little kitchenette to find some food. Might as well do something since those bloody technicians are taking so long to even find the time to start cleaning her engines. Least it explains why Geralt keeps it all so cheap, the damned bastard.

As though her words have summoned him, the holocommunicator starts beeping and she glares at it as she activates it. “I already told you to stop bothering me,” she snaps, showing her supreme lack of care for the call by moving back over to her bench and leaving the Mirialan staring at nothing.

His tone is unsurprisingly rather wheedling. _“Now now, Dia, darling, that’s no way to speak to me. I thought we were friends!”_

She sighs, pouring her caf into her mug. “Perhaps if it snowed on Tatooine, Abelli. What do you want?”

_“I am wounded, wounded! My turtledove, what can I do to prove my affection for you?”_

She sips her drink, lekku twitching in annoyance. “Call me turtledove again, and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor,” she snarls through gritted teeth.

_“Sugar? Sweetheart? Love blossom? Pumpkin pie? Vanilla sweet cake? Chocolate liqueur?”_

“If you start delving into twi'lek sweets, I may be forced to kill you to save you the embarrassment of brutally mangling the pronunciation,” she says dryly.

_“Tsk tsk, such promises my darling. You are such a tease, never following through.”_

She rolls her eyes. “Tomorrow is another day. For the final time, Abelli, what do you want?”

He switches moods to serious so fast it almost makes her head spin. _“I need you to do something for me. Someone needs help.”_

She shrugs. “No. I will not heal any of your idiotic criminals who got themselves shot by the Cartel again. It is a waste of time, and you have no offers to pay me with.”

His voice sounds far too triumphant and sly and she inwardly curses. _“Ah, so you haven’t been profiting from smuggling Dubrillian sea-salt truffles and caramels then? Risha will be so pleased when I tell her that! Of course, I could just... not tell her. For the right price.”_

She looks at the little gilt-covered box across the room and scowls. She forgets how smart the damn fool can be sometimes. “Fine. Where am I going?”

 _“Just across the station actually,”_ he answers, all smug for a moment until she walks back in front of the communicator and his expression fades. “ _But the patient is kind of a problem and-”_

“Just tell me who it is,” she grumbles.

_“Fine. It’s our lovely ex-Emperor, Arcann. I assume you saw the broadcasts that Vaylin took the throne? Well it’s because Arcann is half-dead and his mother ran off with him and they need someone to look after them who they can trust. From my reports, they’re out of food and supplies, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out Senya has no idea what to do next. She’s trying to hide from us.”_

Dia blinks at the screen in surprise. She certainly wasn’t expecting that. “... what?”

_“What, do I need to use smaller words?”_

“No, you idiot, why do you care about _them_?”

His expression hardens. _“I don’t,”_ he says harshly, before deflating a little. _“But Calli does.”_

Ah. That certainly explains it. Not that she particularly cares for the ex-Emperor herself, but she does like Senya; they had spent some time talking while she was looking after Lieca, and she considers the woman to be both charming and sensible, a rare combination. And Geralt is right in coming to her - she would be a natural choice to help them, as she doesn’t particularly care for the Alliance, or the Republic or the Empire. Just her people and looking after them.

She finally exhales through her nose. “I understand,” she says shortly. “Do you have any idea of his injuries?”

Geralt gives her a flat look before she turns around to start rummaging in her supplies. _“Does it look like I bloody know? Isn’t that your department?”_

She glares at him and he visibly swallows back his retort. She honestly never thought she’d see the day that Geralt would hold back his stupid honeyed words - Calli’d better know how special she is. “Some idea would be significantly more helpful,” she responds.

He sighs. _“Look, I don’t know and I’m not exactly going to ask, but from what I’ve overhead it’s damages to his facial implants, his robotic arm, and whatever else happens when you get crushed by debris from your own exploding ship.”_

“Fine. I will head over there now, and yes, I won’t tell anyone. Where are they?”

_“Docking bay 42. I told Guss to send Senya back to the ship so she should be there.”_

She nods and disconnects the call, gathering a few more supplies for her bag. Her Force healing is of course phenomenal, but sometimes actual medicine helps too. She and Ysaine have had many arguments about that exact issue over the last few years.

Speaking of which…

She pulls out her holocom and types up a quick message. _“Izzy? I need your help with something. I’ll call you once I iron out the details, but I’ll need to contact that neurologist you know. Can you ensure they’re near the clinic? Thanks, Dia.”_

 

* * *

 

Senya can barely stop herself from racing back to the ship, keeping her hood tucked up around her face. A Mon Calamari had appeared and ordered her back to her ship, saying that Geralt had ordered him to do so, and she’s suddenly desperately worried for her son. If Geralt knows that they are here... the Mirialan’s disdain for her son had been obvious for months now. Would he send her back just to watch someone else kill her baby?

She breaks into a run as soon as she is free from the crowds, desperate to reach the door. Her training with Force foresight is limited, only a few scattered lessons with the Alliance over their time together, but she would have to be Force-blind to miss the warnings shooting down her spine.

She barrels into the docking bay at full speed, her heart in her throat at the sight of an exceptionally tall hooded figure standing in front of the shuttle, and she draws her lightsaber. “Step away from the shuttle!” she shouts, refusing to let her voice waver.

The figure turns immediately, seemingly startled, and she relaxes only marginally at recognising her. “Dia’ayla.”

The pink twi’lek nods in greeting, her heavily made-up eyes revealing nothing. “Senya,” she says shortly, eyeing her lightsaber with caution but not reaching for her own. That goes a long way towards reassuring her.

“What are you doing here?”

Dia’ayla exhales through her nose, lips pressed thin. “I am here because someone decided it would be a good idea to get himself half-murdered by his own ship,” she says tightly. She then rolls her eyes. “And I am here to see that he is not _completely_ murdered.”

She stares, not quite ready to deactivate the saber. “What? How did you know that we were here?”

Dia’ayla gives her a flat look. “You used Callistra’s authorisation codes, to enter an unregistered station controlled by Abelli, and thought that they just wouldn’t notice?”

She flushes with embarrassment. “Arcann told me to come here,” she says quietly, finally putting away her lightsaber.

Dia’s brow lifts, the markings around her eyes shifting with the gesture. “Why would your princeling know of this place and yet not attack it?” she asks pointedly.

Senya pauses. “I... do not know.” But she suspects it has to do with Calli.

Dia sighs, her expression still flat. “Of course,” she responds dryly. “Well, if what I can feel from out here is any indication, he’s certainly not going to get better on his own. Let me go look over him.”

She steps towards the shuttle, and Senya panics. “Wait!”

Dia looks back at her, purple eyes clearly conveying her annoyance as she looks down at her. “Senya, your son is dying. Where else will you go? You already found the most neutral doctor likely to help you. Now let me do this.”

She bites her lip and Dia apparently takes that as agreement as she sweeps off towards the shuttle without another word.

Dia doesn’t even appear to notice the cramped conditions of the shuttle, bowing her head slightly in the small space as though it means nothing. Arcann apparently woke up while she was gone, his feverish mumblings audible again as he restlessly shifts on the bed. But Dia apparently doesn’t care for that, and with one quick gesture, Arcann is unconscious again.

She gasps, rushing to check his pulse, and Dia waves her off. “It’s significantly faster than using a serum, despite Izzy’s protests,” she says, a degree of fondness in her words, and Senya realises she’s referring to Mandalore’s wife. “I need him to stay still.”

She moves her hands over Arcann’s body, tutting to herself as she brushes over his left side and up across his neck and face. “You did well to remove the pieces of the mask,” she says, kneeling down to inspect his face closer. “The damaged implants would have only harmed him further. See the stress lines across the skin? Infection.”

She sighs. “I cannot heal this entirely now,” she says quietly. “Even without the damage to his mask and arm, his injuries are too severe. But I can stabilise him, for a time.”

“Do what you must. Please, save my son.”

Dia’ayla nods, and closes her eyes to concentrate. To her fascination, the Force glows purple from her rather than Lieca’s clear gold, and she tries to focus enough to learn how to mimic it.

Arcann groans instantly, apparently partially woken up by whatever she’s doing, and Dia grits her teeth. “Keep him still,” she growls, hands hovering over his chest and stomach.

She realises she’s humming again without even being aware of it, quickly running her hand up and over his uninjured cheek. “Oh my darling boy,” she murmurs as she sings, and he settles somewhat again at the sound of her voice.

It could be minutes or it could be hours before Dia staggers back, looking exhausted. “There. Stable, for now. But it’s going to be a lot of work to replace those implants and of course his arm. I will need to contact others for help.”

Fresh panic surges in her even as the twi’lek turns away. “What?”

Dia groans as she straightens again, hand on the wall for support. “I cannot heal the severity of these wounds on my own,” she says crossly, a thread of weariness in her voice. “And I certainly cannot conjure metal from thin air. He will need a great deal more help, and I will need to ask for it.”

“Who will you ask?”

Dia sighs, eyes still closed as she leans on the wall. “Your gratefulness is astounding,” she remarks pointedly. “But for all my skill, you would need many others learned in healing to maintain those levels enough to bring him back to full health. And since the war, there just isn’t that amount of Force healers available in large groups. The Sith certainly look down upon it, bloody useless idiots that they are. Perhaps among the Voss you might find enough, and even then, only maybe.” She shakes herself, clearly aware she was rambling in her exhaustion. “But that’s hardly here nor there. I will need professional surgeons to help with the rest. The Force cannot do everything.”

 _The Voss._ Gaden-Ko had promised to offer his aid if she ever needed it, his golden eyes sad as though he had known what was coming. Their Mystics were said to have visions of the future - _had he known back then what was coming?_ But the Voss were neutral, skilled in healing. They would help her son. She trusts the fabled Voss neutrality more than a former Sith’s mysterious contacts. It is unkind to Dia, but she just cannot risk her son any further.

The twi’lek seems unaware of her decision, slowly straightening further as the colour comes back into her cheeks. “I will call the others now - I’ll just be a few minutes. The scramblers on outbound communications only work outside the docking bays. Abelli might be a moron, but he’s properly paranoid when the occasion calls for it.”

Hardly daring to believe her luck, she only nods. “Thank you,” she calls after the twi’lek’s retreating figure.

Arcann groans on the bed, and she jumps forward to cup his cheek again. “Do not worry, Arcann, I will help you. My son, we will be safe soon, I promise.”

She watches out the cockpit window to see Dia exit the docking bay, and immediately leaps into action to disable the airlock doors. True to the Mon Calamari’s word, she had previously spotted enough supplies in the shuttle to last a few more days. It will be enough to get to Voss, it has to be.

She winces at the flare of rage she feels from outside the docking bay, but she has to make this choice. Arcann needs her.

It’s the work of moments to flee the station, heading straight for Voss. She only hopes it will be enough.

 

* * *

 

Calli rolls over in her bed, still tossing and turning despite the late hour, and she’s absolutely sick of it. It’s been a few days since the flagship all but exploded around them, and honestly it still feels a little like the calm before a storm. Everyone else seems so calm, chattering casually as though nothing is wrong, and it’s putting her even more on edge.

She appreciates that no-one seems to want to talk to her about Arcann, as much as she hates it at the same time. They obviously all fucking know, it’s just _embarrassing_ how they’ve all apparently decided not to say anything.

As for her, she’s spent most of her time these last few days hiding away with her nieces and nephews, studiously ignoring everyone except for the kids and Bowdaar.

She hasn’t even spoken to Thexan yet, the reality of it all still too hurtful and raw. From the look on his face at their family dinners, it’s probably just as well. He looks more wrung out than she is, quiet and solemn.

And that’s the way it should be. He nearly lost his brother, the man who was his entire world until Valkorion tore them apart. He nearly lost his mother, the woman defiantly staring down the threat of missiles and death as she fled into the stars with Arcann. Until they’d had the transmissions from Zakuul, they couldn’t even be sure that Vaylin had survived either. In one fell swoop, he’d nearly lost the very same family he’d been trying so hard to save these last few years. He should definitely be more upset than the stupid girl who’s still tangled up around a one night stand months later.

Honestly, what is that all about anyway? She’s not eighteen anymore, pining desperately for a partner to give her affection. She got over that years ago, deciding to only put energy towards people who deserved her. Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em, that was always easier.

Clearly she just needs to get a grip. And stop running into Arcann ever again, obviously. Especially because everytime she does, Lieca is nearly killed. She can’t be responsible for her sister’s death, _again_.

She sniffs, choking back a miserable half-sob, half-chuckle at the way Lieca had gently teased her about her libido having a death count, way back when she’d woken up after everything that happened on Asylum. Gods, that feels like it was years ago, not months.

She rolls back onto her other side, staring at the dark ceiling. She thanks every deity in the universe that Lieca was not nearly so affected this time around. It’s apparently another thing no-one’s acknowledging, how Lieca keeps wincing and touching her left side, sometimes clutching her shoulder in odd moments. She only saw Cera towards the beginning of Lieca’s imprisonment, but the gestures and faraway looks are just the same. Lieca is reacting to her Force bond with Arcann.

Lieca, the perfect little Jedi, who for all that they share the same eyes, _her_ eyes seem somehow sweeter and more innocent than either hers or Cera’s. Lieca, imploring everyone to just be kind and look out for each other as though it was nothing. Lieca, who just kept holding her close and murmuring that it wasn’t her fault every single time, gently rocking her as she cried her apologies into her shoulder.

Cera seems to be taking it about as well as her. They also haven’t spoken about what Cera almost did on that day, though she’s spotted the twins in deep conversation a few times. It’s no surprise to her - Cera has always been fiercely protective of her family. And as much as the reason why Cera chose to name her is something she shies away from, the protective nature towards her in general does warm her heart.

Avoiding Lieca’s earnest gaze was definitely easier today though. Her sister was all but bouncing off of cloud nine, cornering both her and Cera just before lunch to inform them that Theron had proposed. And didn’t that knock the wind out of her, but Lieca’s eyes were sparkling and she was just so _happy_ , and Calli was just afraid that she would ruin it somehow, say the wrong thing and make her sad.

She is glad for Lieca, she’s so happy that her sister is happy. But it’s just… everything is a little too much right now. But she was happy to be included, that they were told separately. They told everyone else at dinner, and Theron bore the teasing as well as ever, cheeks bright red as Flissa and Lieca glowed beside him. Gods her niece was so happy - it’s obviously everything she’s ever wanted. Even Felix seemed to take it rather well, the lack of surprise on his face a clear sign he and his wife had also been told earlier. No surprises there; for all that Lieca is sometimes clueless as to how she feels, she’s usually pretty damn sensitive to the feelings of others. She cares so much for other people.

Thexan’s pale face and pained expression had matched how she felt, though. She knew he was more reacting to the noise and emotion of the room than anything - he’s been hiding in his rooms more than she has in hers - but they still shared a small nod and a tiny smile before he turned his attention back to his plate and his tiny daughter in the high chair to his right.

Aaaaaand sleep is still eluding her. Fantastic. Faaaaaantastic.

She grunts and kicks her sheets off, swinging her legs to the side of the bed so she can sit up. Too annoyed to turn on the light, and hoping that if she somehow doesn’t, she’ll be able to get to sleep easier, she reaches across her little bedside table for the glass of water she knows she put there earlier.

She finds it easily enough, draining the whole thing in one gulp as though those five seconds where she’s intent on swallowing will somehow drown out the rest of her thoughts. But… no such luck.

Fine, maybe if she reads something, she’ll be able to sleep. She fumbles across the table for her datapad, cursing wildly as her fingers instead find something sharp, and she draws her hand back to her mouth to suck on the injured finger instantly.

 _Ow_. What the fuck was that?

Still cursing around her finger, she finally gives up and turns on the little lamp so she can see better, and she winces as the light momentarily blinds her; blinking to clear her vision, the light instead bounces off of something on the surface, glittering brightly. She squints, her brain trying to kick out of the repetitive nonsense it’s been trapped in these last long hours, and finally recognises her jewellery lying scattered about.

That’s right, she had brought some of her crafting materials with her, but she’s been too busy sulking to appreciate them. And she threw her jewellery there after they got back from dinner, too miserable to untangle her necklace properly.

It is still one of her favourite pieces, pretty _and_ practical, with the spun glass and the hidden dataspikes and...

... _wait_.

That’s the necklace that she wore to the party. That was part of a matched set with her earrings and her bracelet and her ring.

Her ring that Arcann has now.

The ring with an imbedded tracker.

Her ring.

_With Arcann._

She immediately lunges to grab her datapad, thankful at least that she’d emptied her glass beforehand when it goes tipping onto its side. She curses angrily at the stupid thing as it turns on at the slowest speed she’s ever seen it, her hands shaking. It’s like the thing fucking _knows_ she’s in a hurry.

Of course there’s no way he kept the ring. The fact that he seemed to have it on Asylum was purely coincidence. Maybe he had thought to return it to her or something equally ridiculous (wow Calli, conceited much??), but then after everything that happened... when he realised who she was... there’s no way he kept it. He must have destroyed it, or thrown it out, or sold it. He wouldn’t have kept it on his person, that’s just-

The signal is originating from Voss.

_Did he keep it?_

No, that’s ridiculous. He must have sold it to someone, and they happened to be on Voss. The hammering of her heart in her chest is just… well, she doesn’t know what it might be, but it’s definitely not hope or anything dumb like that.

Maybe if she downloads the history of the signal…

Zakuul, Alderaan, Port Nowhere (what?) and Voss.

Aside from the stopover at Port Nowhere, which doesn’t make any sense, that could match. That could be right.

Lieca would know. She could use her weird Force magic and find out where he is. Tell Calli she’s being ridiculous and soothe her and let her down gently and tell her there’s no way he’s on Voss.

... but there’s no one he could have given or sold the ring to that would have also gone from Zakuul to Alderaan, and then to Voss in the timeframe provided. Which means...

It’s him. It’s Arcann.

He kept her ring.

And now she knows where to find him.


	25. Medic

Calli is moving before she can even think of it, scrambling for her holocom to send a message to Thexan. It’s that weird time of night where it’s both ridiculously late and ridiculously early, so she’s not really expecting him to be awake. But her head is racing and she’s working herself up into knots and she needs to tell someone.

_“Thexan! I know where Arcann is!”_

She realises only after she’s sent the message that perhaps she’s overreacting, maybe she doesn’t know where he is and she’s just getting Thexan’s hopes up for nothing. Also, it’s so fucking early there’s no way he’s actually awake-

Her comm dings with an incoming call.

So much for that. Heart pounding, she accepts, and then realises two things.

One, that this call is going to go nowhere because of course no-one else would be awake for them to organise anything with. And two, that neither of them thought through this call very much, as Thexan is sitting somewhere shirtless in low-slung pants and she only just remembers she’s in an overlarge t-shirt and barely-there shorts.

They both stare at each other for a moment before yelping, and Thexan rears back so fast she thought he might have fallen off his chair. “ _Gah_!”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her blanket over her lap, huffing at the holocom as Thexan tentatively edges back into the shot, arms folded and visibly embarrassed.

Hmmm, now she’s just more annoyed at Arcann. Is this what she missed out on by being blindfolded?? _Rude_. Maybe she wanted to enjoy the eye candy too! After a few moments of ogling she quickly tells herself to please focus on the fact that this is her _friend_ Thexan, and not Arcann. No perving. That would be weird. That goes for the rest of her too.

Thexan is apparently refusing to move his arms away from his torso, deliberately not looking at his comm. “ _Calli_ ,” he greets warily, awkwardly settling back into his chair, ramrod stiff.

She sighs. “Thexan,” she greets politely. “You don’t have to be that like, I’m sure it was nothing you haven’t seen before. And I am still completely dressed.”

He actually hisses at her. _“It’s still inappropriate.”_

“Thexan, it’s just my legs. I’m sure you’ve seen legs before. Your wife has lovely legs.”

He actually sounds scandalised, and she tries not to let her ‘ _little sister_ ’ teasing take over from her nerves. He makes it so difficult, he’s such an easy target. _“We are_ not _talking about Ona’la’s legs!”_

She giggles, attention drawn to where his right hand moves up to catch his wedding necklace, perhaps an unconscious gesture to settle his nerves. “Fine, fine. Be boring. Why are you even awake?”

He glares at her, shifting his hand from his necklace up to rub his left shoulder. _“Anya wouldn’t settle,”_ he says shortly. _“I had hoped Calinda would wear her out, but it’s apparently had the opposite effect. And I think I pulled a muscle when I pulled her off the wall earlier - can’t sleep.”_

The flash of jewellery on his hand, the ring he shares with his brother, reminds her of the point of this call, and he apparently notices her staring at it. _“Calli, what is it? You… you said you found Arcann?”_

She bites her lip. “Arcann, he... he kept my ring. I can still track it. I can see where they’ve gone.”

He sits up a little, enough that the scar across his stomach is suddenly visible from behind the desk, and her gaze drops to it in curiosity. _“What? Where are they? Are they alright? Tell me!”_

She shakes her hands quickly. “Hey hey, slow down! I don’t know alright, I only know where they are!”

That scar might be nearly six years old, but it’s still obvious even to her untrained eye and through a hologram, and it makes something in her chest ache. Lieca would have a similar scar, from the horrible mess she made of things on Asylum. Though Lieca’s scar would be rounder, less of a slash. Probably far more painful too, as much as her sister tries to smile sweetly and ignore her own pain for everyone else’s.

She doesn’t notice the tears gathering in her eyes until Thexan speaks up, his voice far softer. _“Calli? Are you alright?”_

She sniffs. “Does it still hurt?”

He blinks in confusion. _“I’m sorry, what?”_ he asks, before noticing the direction of her gaze. _“Oh, my scar? No. It doesn’t tend to hurt anymore. Do you want to judge me for wanting him back despite this too?”_

She chokes back a laugh. “It would be pretty hypocritical of me to judge you for that,” she says sadly. “At least you have a lifetime of memories to justify it. You were family years before anything else happened.”

_“Calli-”_

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” she sniffs, cutting across him instantly. “And they’re on Voss. I don’t know where, or why, but that’s where they are. They went to Port Nowhere first - I don’t know why, but I’ll find out what happened there. I just thought... you’d want to know first. That they’re alive.”

Thexan smiles at her, though he still seems sad. _“Thank you, Calli.”_

She shrugs awkwardly, wrapping her arms around herself. “Don’t mention it,” she mumbles.

Thexan looks like he’s carefully considering his next words, his voice slow when he speaks. _“You should tell your sister. You know she will want to help us.”_

Calli huffs, refusing to wipe at her eyes again. “I... I know. I’ll message her now - I expect she’ll come barreling in in the morning.”

Thexan nods. _“Alright. Well, thank you for telling me. But you should get some sleep. We’ll figure it out in the morning, you’ll see.”_

She nods awkwardly. “Goodnight Thexan.”

_“Goodnight Calli.”_

The second he hangs up, she remembers the half-overhead conversation Geralt had had with Guss. There’s no way that it was about Senya and Arcann, right?

But Geralt hadn’t said anything to her afterward, and has been acting weird since then…

The bastard knew, didn’t he.

Angrily, she starts calling Guss, realising the time difference to Port Nowhere would mean at least the Mon Calamari would be awake. She has no interest in trying to get past the rampaging Arkanian dragon that is Risha if she’s interrupted in her sleeping for one of Geralt’s zany schemes.

Plus there’s no point - even if she survives Risha, Geralt practically sleeps like the dead anyway. And she certainly has no interest in seeing Risha try to wake him up, _ew_.

Guss answers pretty quickly, which does surprise her a bit. _“Oh, hello Calli. How are you?”_

“Hey Guss. Did you have an unidentified Zakuulan shuttle on board over the last few days?”

He blinks once, then twice, and he looks like a deer caught in headlights. _“Uh, well, you see, you’ll have to refer the matter to my legal representation. And I can’t even afford a lawyer! Do you think Geralt has one I can use?”_

“Guss!”

_“Okay, okay, sheesh. I, uh, can’t say anything. Orders, you know. Very important business here and-”_

“GUSS!”

_“Fine fine fine. Ah, yes. Yes we did. But Geralt told me not to say anything.”_

She sighs, already picturing strangling her best friend. “It’s fine Guss, I’ll deal with him,” she says crossly, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. “What happened?”

_“They landed, looking pretty beat up. I called Geralt when I recognised them though. He said to just give them what they wanted and make them leave? Dia’ayla might know more.”_

She frowns, sitting up straighter. “What? Dia’s there?”

Guss seems to brighten at the prospect of escaping this conversation. _“Oh, yes! Well, she was. She went to the shuttle. I think Geralt told her to. She was really mad afterwards though, Corso nearly got knocked out.”_

She facepalms. “You sent Corso to deal with Dia? Guss, this is why Geralt hates leaving you there. Where’s Timaeus anyway? Isn’t it his shift this week?”

He huffs. _“Not here. So if you want more, I guess you should talk to Dia. Unless you want to talk to Corso? I can fetch him!”_

She winces. “No no no, that’s fine, Guss. I’ll go ring Dia. Thanks!”

She hangs up before he can say anything else, already trying to figure out the time difference to Nar Shaddaa even as she starts making the call.

Dia’ayla answers, clearly seated at her desk and looking at something on her screen because she doesn’t even look at her holocom. _“You should be sleeping,”_ she greets, sounding bored.

“Hello to you too, Dia,” she answers politely.

_“Hello Callistra. You should be sleeping.”_

She sighs. “I know, I know. Will you talk to me anyway?”

The twi’lek sighs back, lifting her hand to adjust something on her screen with a frown. _“I answered your call, did I not? What is wrong?”_

“Why would something be wrong?”

Dia finally turns to look at her holocom, her expression completely flat. _“You would not be calling at this hour of your morning for pleasantries.”_

She winces. “Ah, true.” Force, talking to Dia always makes her feel like she’s five years old and just been caught scribbling on the walls with crayon. “Um, did you see the, uh, Zakuulan shuttle on Port Nowhere?”

Dia’s face twitches, her expression briefly murderous for a moment. _“My services were required on the station, yes,”_ she says shortly. _”Did Abelli speak to you, or are you trying to drag me further into this nonsense?”_

Well there’s even more proof that Geralt was involved, son of a bitch. “What happened?”

Dia folds her arms, eyes back on her screen; her eyes pierce straight through her. _“I provided my services in healing what I could without my medical equipment,”_ she says shortly. _“And in response, they fled. No doubt completely undermining my efforts. How lovely to be so appreciated.”_

Her heart thuds in her chest. “What? They ran?”

Dia sighs. _“Yes, Callistra, they fled. Thus why I am here, looking at charts on my screen, and talking to you, rather than tending to my patient. Who could be any-fucking-where in the universe, doing goddess only knows what damage and reversing my medical aid. How wonderful.”_

“I know where they went.”

She sits up suddenly. _“What? Tell me!”_

“They’re on Voss.”

Dia’s eyes gleam, visible even through the holocom lighting. _“Voss? No doubt the Mystics are making a complete mess of everything. Assuming that my own efforts were not completely reversed by the irresponsible removing of him from my care in the first place, assuming I can get there in time... if I actually have my field kit with me this time, and at least I’ve got some idea of previous medical history, then I should...”_ She shook herself. _“Fine. Then I shall be going.”_

“I’m sorry, what?”

Dia finally turns back to face her. _“Callistra, do not pretend that you are unaffected by this. You are not that great an actress. I have been asked to do this job on your behalf, and so I will continue until my patient is healed. I care not for the politics of the matter, which I suspect is why I was asked to intervene in the first place.”_

She falters. “What? Geralt asked you to do this... for me?”

Dia nods shortly. _“Of course. The boy clearly cares for you. I feel he was perhaps trying to angle for a discount of my services, but no matter. I will send Port Nowhere the bill, and the interest will accrue daily when he inevitably neglects to pay me in a timely matter.”_

“I can pay,” Calli blurts out, before she can stop herself. At Dia’s pointed look, she bites her lip, horrified at how much she’s given away in three small words. “I mean, uh, it’s Arcann. It’s Arcann paying, I just stole his money, so it’s not like I’m doing it because I care-”

_“Callistra, again - you are not that great an actress. I care not who pays,, or why, as long as someone pays. And before I leave, I need Thexan’s contact information.”_

The complete change of direction in the conversation completely throws her. “Uh, what? Why?”

Dia is already looking back at her screen as if she’s dismissed her relevance to the conversation, reaching up to adjust something else. _“My team will need his details within the hour, Callistra, to start work on the implants. If I cannot get access to my patient in the next few days, I will at least need the prosthetics to be constructed in preparation.”_

“What? Hang on a second-”

_“Your objections have been noted. Please provide the information within the hour, and if Cedrax calls to complain about the limited time frame, I will sabotage his wine deliveries with absolutely no regrets. He is fully capable of working within my time constraints.”_

Dia then disconnects the call without saying goodbye, clearly already absorbed in whatever medical data she was looking at, and Calli sighs and reaches up to rub her forehead.

It’s only a few more hours til everyone else starts to wake up, what else could possibly happen?

 

* * *

 

Lieca sighs softly as she wakes up, stirring faintly as Theron huffs against her neck. Her fiance (a concept that still makes her grin and want to shriek with happiness into her pillow) has never really been a morning person.

He must have been cold during the night as he’s pressed up against her so closely, his arm draped over her waist. He always teases that she’s basically a portable heater, and she always retorts that that explains why he’s always so snuggly at night. The way he blushes always earns at least a few kisses in return.

But this morning she feels a little restless, so staying curled up in Theron’s arms, while sweet, isn’t enough of a distraction for her brain. She prefers to let him sleep - he’s not very good at taking care of himself after all - so she very slowly wriggles her arm out from under his to pull her datapad into her hand with the Force.

Predictably, it’s lit up with far too many coloured messages, and she sighs, freezing as Theron shifts and resettles behind her again.

Deciding to ignore business for now, she flicks through her personal messages from her friends, most of which seem to be about their engagement. Kira has sent her love and taken the opportunity to try to embarrass her with a few attachments of rather risque novels, judging by the titles. But she can still feel the warm regards hiding amongst the teasing, and it makes her smile. Tai has sent through an unusually informal message of congratulations, and the sentiment makes her smile widen. Gaden-Ko has sent through a sweet poem, and she can tell he doesn’t entirely understand the entire process, but it’s the thought that counts.

There’s also a ridiculously excited message from Nadia, begging for a video call at the earliest opportunity, and a sweetly awkward congratulations from Zenith, including a promise to arrange Theron’s assassination if he ever hurts her. She can’t help her giggle at that, and jumps as she feels Theron’s arm moving over her waist.

“Mmm, watcha looking at?” he mumbles into her neck, shifting enough to peer over her shoulder. She hadn’t even noticed that he was awake.

He’s always pretty adorable when he’s just woken up, though he gets huffy if she tells him that. She merely sighs. “Just messages, love. Lots of people wanted to congratulate us.”

She rolls over in his arms to meet his hazy golden eyes and rather suspicious expression. “Mmm, is that so?” he hums. “Who’s that last one from?”

She flushes. Zenith and Theron have never particularly gotten along - Zenith had returned to Balmorra by the time of all that Revan nonsense, but they knew each other in passing from her friendship with them both over the years. She suspects it has to do with Theron’s far more carefree attitude compared to Zenith’s constant vigilance for anything, the former’s make-it-up-as-he-goes versus the latter’s obsessive need for carefully executed plans. And Zenith had not seemed... _disapproving_ of her relationship with Theron, but she can tell he’s not particularly fond of him. She can also tell he’s genuinely happy for her, even if he awkwardly hides it behind his gruff exterior. As much as Zenith hides his feelings deep down, she knows how to read him by now.

Well, she used to, and the memory of the five years without her friends makes her smile fade. “No-one in particular,” she says quietly, moving the datapad out of reach.

Theron clearly senses her changing mood despite his obvious sleepiness, and he frowns. “No-one huh?” he says quietly. At her lack of response, he raises his eyebrow. “So, I guess you won’t mind if I do... _this_!”

He then moves, surprisingly quickly for the early hour, to try to grab the datapad. She squeals and tries to duck away from him, significantly hampered by the fact she was already towards the edge of the bed and he’s looming over her. “ _Theron_!”

He continues trying to wrestle her, clearly relaxing as she starts giggling and trying to wriggle away from him. “No, no! It’s fine, it’s nothing!” she laughs.

He shrugs, still trying to sneak past her flailing arms, expression alight with mischief. “If it’s nothing, Liss, you won’t mind me seeing it,” he says with a challenging grin.

She shrieks with laughter again as he quickly runs his hands up her sides. “Theron! That tickles!” she gasps, instinctively drawing her hands back in to protect herself.

He grins, and keeps moving to eventually pin her hands beside her head, leaning in to kiss her. “Caught you,” he murmurs softly, his smile shy as he drapes himself over her, propped up on his elbows. He then turns his attention to the datapad trapped in her pinned hand. “So, what’s this?”

She huffs, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “Oh, I see. Just using kisses to get what he really wants. That’s fair.”

His eyes are gleaming when his gaze snaps back to hers, expression sly. “Well, kisses aren’t all I want,” he drawls. “But you seemed sad - so maybe that’s not the best distraction for you.”

She looks away for a moment. “It’s just... everyone’s so happy for me,” she whispers. “But I... missed so much of _their_ lives. I keep forgetting that, and then sometimes I just... remember.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Theron murmurs, releasing her hands but not moving away. She’s grateful for that - when he’s pressed so close to her she knows he’s real, that this isn’t something she’s just imagining again in the depths of Valkorion’s mocking nightmares.

 _Way to be a downer, Lieca. Having a lovely cute moment with your fiance and that stupid idiot in your head keeps ruining it even though he’s been silenced._ The doubting whispers she hears occasionally must be her overactive imagination remembering what it felt like before, no matter what Satele says.

She shakes her head quickly. “It’s fine love.”

He doesn’t seem at all convinced, but accepts her brush-off and leans up to kiss her forehead. “Mmm-hmm. We’ll pretend I believe you, okay?” he says, shifting his weight so that he can move one hand up to stroke her cheek. The gesture calms her, and he stays silent for a moment before his expression turns sly, glancing at her datapad again. “And you know, I find it quite interesting how I’m forbidden from doing work in bed but it’s fine for you.”

She flushes and he grins. “Typical Jedi, saying one thing, doing another,” he teases, sitting up enough to start tickling her again.

“But it was personal!” she laughs, trying to squirm away. As much as he pretends otherwise, he’s good at cheering her up. “I had to check my mail!”

She ends up escaping only by using the Force to help her flip him, still giggling as she pins his hands down and ignores the flash of arousal on his face. “You are being a menace,” she says, leaning over to kiss his nose.

She blushes as she moves back and sees that he was blatantly trying to look down her nightgown, sitting up on his hips and folding her arms. He grins at her, but she can tell he’s merely playing to distract her. “Alright, so what do your adoring fans say?”

She pulls her datapad into her hand again. “People congratulating me that you _finally_ proposed,” she says dryly, and he groans and tips his head back.

She giggles at his melodrama and turns her attention back to her datapad as he starts grumbling about a bet or something - probably the one Cera won about when they’d say they loved each other. She wonders if she should mention Cera is definitely cheating, still scrolling through her messages.

_Oh look, a message from Calli - at three in the morning? Calli, why weren’t you sleeping then-_

Her expression must’ve changed, as Theron suddenly sounds concerned. “Babe? Liss, what is it?”

She closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to lie to him, she _can’t_ , but - Force, will he even understand… “I want to help Arcann,” she says out loud, and the sudden silence makes it feel like the sentence echoes through the room and she winces.

When he doesn’t move or say anything, she opens her eyes and looks back at him, his expression puzzled and a definite shutter over his eyes. “What?”

Well, now or never. “I don’t want to lie to you,” she says softly. “This marriage won’t work if we have to keep secrets. And I want this to work! More than anything in the world. But I… I also want to help Arcann, help him recover. I want to give him a chance.”

His eyes are flat. “Lieca, he… Force, he nearly killed you. _Twice_. Do you have any idea what that did to us? To _me_? And you want to _help_ him?”

She probably could have chosen a far more opportune time to have this conversation. “I believe he can change. Away from the Throne, away from the spectre of his father - I believe he deserves a chance to find out what he could have been. To atone for what he’s done.”

“Lieca-”

She feels a little more desperate now, her usual persuasive voice failing her at the look in his eyes. “He listened! When we met on Asylum - he didn’t even try to hurt me, not until, until... the old Emperor appeared. You know that, I’ve told you that. And he said such cruel things and Arcann was clearly _afraid_ and I... I want to believe he can change. I want to believe he can be different, that he can start to make up for the things he’s done. For Senya, for Thexan, for Calli.”

His expression is hard, his hands catching her wrists as she gestures helplessly. “For _Calli_? Lieca, your sister despises that man. It would take an idiot to miss how he hurt her. And I know she thinks of me as such, but I’m not this time.”

She frowns, definitely not feeling tears in her eyes as her left shoulder flares in pain. “She saw something there, something worth getting hurt over,” she says quietly. “She begged us not to kill him Theron. She _begged_ us. I trust Calli, I _believe_ her. She thought she met someone who had the potential to be something _more_ , and I want to give him this chance.”

She moves off him as he starts to sit up, but rather than push her away he moves his hands to her shoulders, rubbing the left one with his thumb running in small circles. “Lieca, I- wait. You know where they are, don’t you?”

She’s definitely almost crying now. “I can’t… I want to do this, Theron. Please don’t be mad with me. I don’t want to lie. But I can’t do this without you. I want this to work, I want _us_ to work, I-”

“Hey hey hey,” he says quickly, moving one hand up to gently press the back of his finger against her eye and catch the tear before it fell. “Please don’t cry, Liss, it’ll be okay.”

She moves her hand up to catch his, sniffing. He sighs, his entire posture awkward. “If you didn’t believe in the best of everyone, you wouldn’t be you,” he says quietly, his other hand moving to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You want to help, you always want to help. Your heart is pretty amazing. I think you’d almost give Ona’la a run for her money.”

He sounds so dry as he says that that she giggles, and he gives a tiny smile. “I don’t... I’m really not comfortable with this. But I... you really want to help, don’t you?” he says before sighing heavily, his smile turning a little more self-deprecating. “Your heart is one of the things I love about you, so I guess I can’t complain too much.”

She smiles at him, and he frowns. “But you get to tell Lana.”

Her expression drops. “Oh, come on!”

 

* * *

 

Vaylin sniffs disdainfully as she looks over the holographic interface of the Fleet, one hand on the arm of the throne holding her head up, while the other levitates some tasty popcorn into her mouth.

For a treat that’s actually Zakuulan, she’s a little annoyed it took her so long to discover it’s deliciousness. Well, she’s pretty sure the _name_ comes from one of the Core Worlds or something, but it’s still Zakuulan food. They’ve apparently always had tasty bundles of the stuff out in the marketplaces (where little _and_ big Vaylins were not allowed to go, oh no). The only thing that’s changed is the type of foods that’s added to the popcorn to give it different flavours.

She suddenly sits up, consumed at the thought of _maple syrup popcorn_. Yes. That would be excellent. Delicious gooey syrup _and_ crunchy popcorn. It would make an absolute mess of everything and the servants’ faces would scrunch up when they saw it and they would _stay away_ from her rooms forever. Plus, tasty food. Everyone wins. Well, no. _Vaylin_ wins.

For the first time in a long time, she always wins now.

She then scowls and flops back onto the throne. The stupid Alliance destroyed the Star Fortress on Alderaan weeks ago, so now the Exarch won’t send her maple syrup anymore. She’ll have to ration her supply.

She wishes the mere thought of it didn’t make her stomach ache with memories of desperately stretching her food stashes out for weeks at a time.

Wait. She’s Empress. She can just order her people to get more. Take all of Father’s stupid money and spend it on herself, the daughter he tried to control. Well who’s laughing now Father?!

She’s about to press the button to call up her seneschal when he calls her instead. _“Empress Vaylin,”_ he greets politely, sounding a little apologetic. What’s wrong _now_? _“We have received a transmission regarding the planned attack on Dubrillion?”_

She frowns in confusion, memory whirring as she tries to place that planet. Some stupid watery planet far away, and she was attacking it because… SCORPIO told her to?

SCORPIO said the planet was connected to the Alliance, and she must not let traitors and usurpers flourish under her rule. It sounded suspiciously close to an _order_ and _no-one_ gives her orders anymore! She is Empress!

But, she had begrudgingly admitted that it was a good idea. The planet is aligned with her enemies, and she really should show them the true power of Zakuul! But it still feels like being told what to do. She had to keep justifying it to herself that even without SCORPIO, it’s something she would still do.

It still sounds hollow, even now, days later.

She huffs, resting her head on her hand again. “Put them through,” she snarls, planning to sound bored but just angry instead.

The hologram that appears before her is of a slightly older and rather attractive woman, her outfit both formal and flattering, with her hair perfectly coiffed on her head. Everything about her appearance seems deliberate, from the way her hair curls near her unfairly pretty eyes, to the blended shading of her outfit drawing attention to her figure while not being obscene about it.

Vaylin scowls, instantly feeling gross next to her, and even more annoyed that the woman shows no reaction about her blatant ogling of her. Not that she was. She’s definitely not looking for anything like that.

The woman is very pretty though.

The woman then smiles, and her heart absolutely does not thump in her chest. That would be weird. There’s nothing to be afraid of here. _“Empress Vaylin,”_ the woman says smoothly. Gods she even has a pretty _voice_ , what is that about?? _“I am pleased that you were able to take my call. Thank you for your time.”_

Her scowl deepens, feeling rather defensive of her own looks. “You are assuming that I am willing to listen,” she says, magnanimously. Stop thinking about how pretty she is and pay attention. “What reasons do you have for interrupting my day like this?”

It’s not _quite_ how Arcann used to talk to pleading sycophants, but his honeyed words feel wrong in her mouth. She’s _Vaylin_ , not Arcann, and this is how she talks.

The woman cocks her head to the side, still poised and charming. _“I am calling to discuss the matter of the Eternal Fleet headed to Dubrillion,”_ she says smoothly.

Vaylin raises her eyebrow. “Really? Why do you care about that? Who are you?”

The woman smiles, bending at the waist into some flawlessly elegant bow. _“My name is Risha Drayen,”_ she says politely. It’s only when she straightens that her expression turns sly. _“Rightful Queen of Dubrillion.”_

She scoffs. “Right. Except that I know there is no Queen of Dubrillion. I am not stupid. Your planet is ruled by others. What are you really looking for?”

Risha laughs warmly, as though she had said something hilarious. “ _Oh please, Empress. You of all people should know that the power of a throne is not always lucky enough to be seated upon it in the public gallery. If I left the idiots back home alone for long enough, I wouldn’t have a planet left to rule! It’s so hard to find decent help these days - having to do everything by myself. It’s exhausting! I admire you for your strength in dealing with an entire Empire.”_

She frowns, as much as the praise makes her feel warm. “So, you _are_ the Queen? What proof do you have?”

Risha arches an eyebrow. _“My name alone,”_ she says haughtily. _“The Drayen dynasty ruled Dubrillion for centuries before being ousted by a cruel usurper. But I do not presume to lecture over the lessons you no doubt received about your vassal worlds.”_

She feels a dull ache in her stomach, probably from nerves. She remembers very little about Dubrillion, honestly. Though the name Drayen does sound familiar... “Of course,” she sniffs. “I do not need to be told again.”

“ _Wonderful_ ,” she says, beaming at her. _“Now, Dubrillion has enjoyed peaceful trade with Zakuul for some time, in particular with our luxury goods and sweets. Why, I can only imagine that you use my favourite face creams, your skin looks radiant. Do the terms of trade displease you, that you would turn the attention of your armies towards us?”_

Something flutters in her chest at the casual compliment and she folds her arms across her chest even as her face heats up. “I have no need for your skincare products,” she says hotly. “I, uh, do not... do not think you can just flatter me into doing your bidding. I am Empress!”

Risha doesn’t even flinch, her tone instantly soothing. _“My apologies, my lady, I meant no disrespect. Few women are blessed to be so naturally flawless. But as you say, to business.”_

She tells herself she’s mishearing the teasing tone, her heart still pounding. “Dubrillion has turned against my Empire,” she says hurriedly, feeling a little tongue-tied. “This will not be tolerated!”

Risha’s eyebrows rise. _“Rebelled? How, my Empress?”_

Does her voice really have to drop on her title? “You are working with the Alliance!” she snaps. “You and your husband! Did you truly think I would not notice?”

Risha laughs again. _“My husband? Oh dear, Empress, I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s not particularly bright. I don’t let him get in my way at all. There’s so many other things to do with my day.”_

The insinuation makes her ears burn. She may not really know what to do with this whole... _flirting_ business, but she’s not a child! She knows what she’s talking about! “I do not care about your _uses_ for him,” she snarls, her voice far higher than she prefers. “He works with the Alliance, against me!”

Risha actually shakes her head. _“Count Merritt would never turn against my wishes, especially to turn Dubrillion against Zakuul. My husband is sweet, and very pretty, but not extraordinarily talented in the worse nature of politics. Rebellion is not quite Merritt’s style. Perhaps your informant lied?”_

That does sound like SCORPIO - clearly the droid was still petulant about the Alliance. The droid had been so secretive about why exactly to attack Dubrillion, choosing not to reveal her reasons. And didn’t she say that Risha’s husband had a different name? Did she lie?

Is she being _tricked_? “You don’t think your husband is smart?” she says cautiously. “Why would you marry him then? He did not bring you a worthwhile ally.”

Risha winks and something flutters in her chest again. _“My lady, I highly recommend choosing the prettiest partner you can. The last thing you want is someone who thinks they know better than you. If you can’t find someone who will make your life easier, at least find someone unfairly attractive. We lead very stressful lives, and could use all of the prettiest distractions to look at in the process.”_

She can only stare at her, mouth slightly agape, and then Risha sighs. _“Well, if Dubrillions are not quite to your taste, perhaps another offering? I know that Dubrillion trades well with Zakuul regarding our pearls and salted dishes... but have you personally tasted our sea salt truffles?”_

She leans forward a little, immediately sidetracked and now rather intrigued. “Sea salt truffles?”

Risha smiles indulgently. _“Mmm yes. Sweet little chocolates lightly dusted with sea salt. My personal favourite is the salted caramel truffles, a truly delectable treat,”_ she says dreamily. _“The chocolate melts against your tongue, silky and sweet, and as the flavour sinks into you, you get the most delightful little burst of salt against the sweetness, just enough to make you-”_ She mimes the action of eating one, eyes closed as if in ecstasy, and her tongue flicking against her lip _“-gasp.”_

Vaylin stares.

_“As one of your vassals, it would be rude to make demands upon your time with no recompense yes? I will arrange for a personal delivery to the palace for you, so that you may try my sweets for yourself. If that is your wish, of course, my dear Empress. I do not wish to impose myself upon you.”_

Vaylin swallows. “You, ah, are not imposing,” she says carefully, cheeks still a little flushed. “I… I would like to try your treats.”

 _“Wonderful! I will arrange things as soon as we finish this call,”_ she says smoothly. _“Now, did you wish me to take any further actions against the supposed rebellion of my court? I can have the traitors sent to you myself, if you only provide their names.”_

She scowls. SCORPIO has clearly lied, tried to use her, and has made her look ridiculous in the process. “There is no need for that,” she says disdainfully. “I will closely monitor the situation. Zakuul will deal with our own enemies.”

There. That sounds sufficiently dangerous without admitting that she might have made a mistake.

Risha smiles indulgently. “ _Very well. If you change your mind at any point, please, let me know. I do not wish to displease you, Empress. Traitors towards either of us will not be tolerated. I’m sure your informant will learn that lesson very soon, for lying to both of us.”_

SCORPIO will be dealt with. For now, she will order the Fleet to stand down, as much as the action leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. “Then we have no problems with Dubrillion,” she says sourly. “But, cross me, and I’ll burn your planet to ash. I could use a few more windows.”

Risha’s expression fades, and she feels an unfamiliar flash of emotion at the sight. _“Fair is fair, Empress. Once the Fleet has retreated, I will make the arrangements to deliver the sweets to your door.”_

Vaylin nods, feeling awkward. “Good. You are dismissed.”

The sour feeling in her stomach does not fade as Risha bows again. _“Thank you for your time, Empress. Enjoy the rest of your day.”_

 

* * *

 

Calli has only been out of her rooms for about ten minutes when her sister collars her, dragging her into a side room for an urgent conversation. Lieca is almost bouncing on her heels, eyes wide, and it actually makes her a little concerned. “Uh, sis?”

She waves her off. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says impatiently. “Now, to business. Are you positive they’re on Voss?”

She blinks at her. “Um, shouldn’t you be able to tell just as well? Cera knew you were on Zakuul.”

Lieca blinks in surprise, but then realisation flashes through her eyes, and she sighs, looking a little crestfallen. “The connection between Cera and I is far stronger, and we were reaching out to each other deliberately. I believe Arcann only became aware of our connection when we met on the flagship, and even when he’s delirious, he’s more than capable of shutting me out since he knows now,” she says, before her expression turns sad. “He made his choice before, but Senya made hers in turn and so we’re going to help.”

Calli frowns. “What? You really have no idea where he is?” At Lieca’s shake of her head, she stares incredulously. “And hey wait, does that mean he didn’t know we were here until you called him?”

Her sister winces. “Um... yes, actually. Which explains why he was so surprised at our call, and panicking about our presence. He thought we were controlling the Fleet and had come to mock him. And yes, as I said, I don’t where he is. If I try searching, I only get the vaguest impression that he’s, well, _here_ , and as that’s obviously not true I think I’m just tired and picking up Cera.”

“Um... are you okay, Lieca? You seem a little... jumpy.”

Lieca pauses, visibly trying to keep still for a moment. “Oh, I’m fine,” she says brightly, and Calli isn’t fooled for a moment. She then sighs. “But Cera is deliberately playing dumb so she can pretend she is not involved in all this, and Theron doesn’t want me to tell Satele he proposed, and I have to call her back later about something else and try to not tell her, and it’s just... everything’s a little out of sorts right now.”

She can feel herself deflating. “And I’m just stupidly adding to it,” she says quietly.

Lieca’s eyes widen and she immediately moves to catch her hands. “What? No! No, Calli, sweetheart, you’re not making things worse. You got through to Cera when I could not, you were so brave up there. And you’ve got an answer for me. You’re helping so much, hun.”

She waits a moment to see if she’s going to let go and then awkwardly pries her hands free. “So, um, what now?”

Lieca accepts the rebuke with an awkward smile, folding her arms to keep them out of the way. “Well, we go to Voss to see if they need us. Obviously.”

Calli pauses. “What? Just like that? Do you want to heal him?”

Lieca draws back, her expression uncomfortable. “Me? No, I, uh. No. That would be a bad idea.”

She opens her mouth to speak but her sister cuts her off. “Calli, I haven’t healed on such a large scale since before I was sealed in carbonite,” she says quietly. “And with my control of the Force being so… difficult, lately, it’s not safe for me to do anything directly.”

She frowns. “That’s not all, is it?”

Lieca huffs under her breath, seemingly a little amused that she’d spotted it, before her expression sombers. “And I don’t want to give Valkorion any further hold over him,” she all but whispers. “I know, he’s sealed away, but the risk is just… it’s too great. I won’t do it. Voss has the Mystics, they will be able to heal him.”

“So… why go there at all then?”

Lieca sighs. “In truth, Cera and I have been discussing the possibility of dismantling further Star Fortresses, and considering my existing allied ties with Voss through Gaden-Ko, it would be a perfect choice,” she says before grimacing. “And to silence Jezhara, it is a neutral world, so we will not have only aided Republic worlds.”

Calli gives her a weird look and she shrugs. “And so, if we are there anyway, we might as well do our best to locate Senya and Arcann. I’m sure Gaden-Ko will help us - I assume Senya would have contacted him herself anyway, I know they spoke when he visited with us.”

She swallows. “You’re still not exactly convincing me about why we should go.”

Lieca smiles. “I think Gaden-Ko knew this was coming,” she says quietly. “Last time we spoke, he told me that _‘the dark sun will not rise on its own’_. He told me I did not understand when I questioned him, but now that you’ve mentioned Voss being involved... I believe it means Arcann. And that he will need our help.”

The idea of deliberately helping him, in the light of day rather than terror-filled moments in a cramped shuttle cockpit, makes her stomach twist. “You know, Vaylin can probably track them too. The shuttle came from the Fleet,” she says miserably. “Port Nowhere would be able to scramble the signal there, but once they left again…”

“You think Vaylin will go to Voss for them?”

Calli nods. “She’s... she was so _angry_ at Senya,” she whispers. “She didn’t hurt me but I could tell she wanted to and I just... she’s not going to let this go. Senya said she was coming to that ship for _her_ and then Senya left with Arcann - I don’t know if her and Vaylin even spoke there. Vaylin’s not going to just accept what happened. She’s going to go after them.”

Lieca gives her a strange look and she looks away. “If it was me - it’s what I’d do,” she finishes quietly.

She can’t see her sister’s face but she can hear her sadness in her voice. “Oh Calli-” she starts, and Calli winces and steps back.

Lieca then pauses and starts again. “It’s alright, the Fleet is currently on its way back to Zakuul,” she says gently. “Risha was able to dissuade Vaylin from attacking Dubrillion, and I believe even tried to turn her against SCORPIO. She won’t have time to head to Voss yet.”

Calli sniffs. “I just... it’s still such a huge risk, Lieca.” Lieca looks at her pointedly and she looks away again, staring at her feet rather than acknowledge the understanding in her sister’s eyes. “He... he doesn’t deserve it.”

Lieca is still watching her, her expression sad. But this time she doesn’t say anything even as Calli wipes at her eyes, blinking furiously to pretend she isn’t crying. “Fine, okay,” she says, sniffing loudly. “Maybe Senya does. But that’s it. And he didn’t break my heart. That would be ridiculous. But he did kill you. That’s enough.”

Lieca nods. “Of course, darling.”

Calli nods back. “Great. Fantastic.”

She’s about to step away and leave when Lieca catches her arm. “Calli, sweetheart. You... you know you can talk to me about him, right?” she says uncertainly. “I’m... I’m not going to judge you. If you want to help, or don’t, that is. Or about him in general. He mistreated you terribly, we can see it in your eyes. But it’s only up to _you_ if you give him another chance, not the rest of us.”

She stares at her. “I... I don’t…”

Lieca sighs. “Calli, no matter what else, I am still your sister. I know... I know I don’t do a very good job of that sometimes,” she says sadly. “I want to help him, I think there’s something there worth saving. But he hurt you darling. If you ask me to, I’ll walk away. If you ask me to, we’ll... throw snowballs at his speeder, or something.”

Calli can feel her eyes welling up again, not shaking free of Lieca’s gentle grip on her arm. “Snowballs at his speeder?”

She flushes. “I’m sorry, pranks were always Cera’s forte, not mine,” she says, sounding embarrassed. “I don’t know what harmless things to do that are sufficiently annoying.”

“What are some of the things Cera used to do to the Masters then? I’ve heard the stories, surely you remember.”

Lieca frowns. “You want me to move his chair out under him when he tries to sit down?” she asks doubtfully. “Or steal his socks?”

“Lieca, you are such a mum.”

She looks briefly offended, drawing herself up for a moment before she deflates. “Hrmph.”

Calli snickers, and Lieca glares at her. “ _Anyway_ , I have already spoken to Flissa and Felix - Flissa is going to stay with her dad and his family for awhile, regardless of what happens next. So we have time to head to Voss and see what we can organise there. I want to ask Tal to help us out too - he has experiences with the Star Fortresses after all, and quite enjoys Voss.”

Calli pauses. “What about your _fiance_?”

Lieca flushes. “I, uh, already told Theron. He’s not particularly pleased but I - I don’t want to lie to him. It wouldn’t be a very auspicious start. He’ll come with us - well, I mean, if you want to come.”

She decides to sidestep that issue entirely. “Have you told anyone else?” she asks pointedly.

Lieca shakes her head. “No, not yet,” she says quietly. “I figured that you would have told Thexan, and the less people that know, the better.”

She raises an eyebrow at her and her sister sighs. “And Theron told me I had to tell Lana,” she continues, sounding rather annoyed.

Calli just starts laughing.

 

* * *

 

It’s a few hours later, after everyone else has dragged themselves out of bed (and Theron still looks half-unconscious despite the caf mug in his hand and Lieca’s amused hovering nearby) and broken their fast sufficiently that their team is all gathered in the main room, waiting for announcements.

At least the kids aren’t here too - they’re currently being watched by the Tiralls, the Iressos, and Doc and Cera. Jezhara stands there smugly wrapped in a silky black cloak that Calli is fairly certain is just to hide the fact that she’s still in her pyjamas. Lana is next to Theron in front of the caf maker, shooting suspicious looks at Lieca.

Geralt has turned his attention towards charming both Raj and Saria, which Koth seems to find vaguely alarming and Vector seems to find vaguely amusing. The Chiss woman almost immediately dominates the conversation, quickly turning the tables on Geralt fast enough that even he seems a little startled.

Risha apparently can see the unease on her face as she quickly corners her to discuss Dubrillion, all sunny and smug as she describes her conversation with Vaylin. Calli kind of wishes she had even half of Risha’s confidence, even just in general, let alone in dealing with Vaylin. Bowdaar, relieved of child-minding, is a fluffy sense of reassurance at her back, and growls happily as Risha passes her a tiny box of her favourite truffles, loftily declaring that she’ll send Vaylin the second-best, but the best is for family.

Of course she immediately shares her prize with her best friend, and giggles as Bowdaar immediately lifts Risha up in a hug, ignoring her startled half-hearted protests.

Lieca then clears her throat, smiling sunnily as everyone slowly turns their eyes to her. “Good morning everyone,” she says cheerfully. “I’ve called you all here to discuss our next actions after we’ve had the last few days to calm down. As you all know, I have spoken with Tai, Malita and Admiral Ranken, and we have confirmed the ongoing alliance between our work and theirs. For now they will continue working in their official capacities, and we will reach out to each other as required.”

Saria nods. “Excellent. May I assume that Imperial Intelligence is also to be ‘let off the hook’?” she says, a slow smile on her face. “Or do I need to continue suffering through the incompetence of the SIS?”

Theron looks rather annoyed but it’s Vitalia who answers, lazily all but draped across Jonas where he sits on his chair, pretending she isn’t there. “Saria, darling, it’s like you don’t treasure our memories together,” the Mirialan pouts. “Did those drinks we shared last night mean nothing?”

Vector sighs and Saria’s smile widens. “Why my darling, you assured me that your tab would cover those,” she says cheekily. “I’m not putting in the expense claim.”

Vitalia smirks. “Well, not my tab, his,” she says, gesturing with her thumb to her now rather disgruntled looking little brother.

“Hey!”

Risha sighs and Vector hides a smile as his wife blinks slowly at Geralt, which she’s pretty sure is the Chiss equivalent of rolling her eyes.

Lieca waits politely for a moment before drawing everyone’s attention again. “ _Anyway_ , I think now would be the best times to try to destroy more of the Star Fortresses - as Vaylin is only newly in power, there is still a great deal of confusion in the galaxy, and now would be the opportune time to bank on that confusion and try to gain some additional allies.”

Risha nods. “I’ve already warded Vaylin off from attacking my homeworld,” she says, smiling smugly at the confused looks shot at her from around the room, and Geralt’s clear awe of his wife. “She’s being led by SCORPIO, and clearly not very happy about it - I pushed as much doubt as I could, but who knows how long it will last?”

Lieca nods back. “Exactly. And although Holiday was able to delete SCORPIO’s knowledge of Odessen, I still worry about what knowledge she might have gained of Alliance tactics in general. Attacking multiple Star Fortresses at once might be just unexpected enough to work.”

Lana is already frowning, and Calli wonders if she already knows. “So, what’s your plan?”

Lieca sighs. “I want to send all the kids home as soon as possible, and then send small strike teams out. Vitalia, Jonas, Saria - could you rendezvous with Jahlia and Andronikos to take out the Nar Shaddaa fortress? Lana, I believe you had previously said you had a Sith contact who would be willing to help out there?”

Lana nods. “Veeroa. She will relish the opportunity to help destroy the Fortress, it’s been causing absolute havoc on that world.”

Jonas’s expression is hard, his grip on his wife tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Exarch Tyn is a monster,” he says quietly. “Republic, Empire, or Alliance, I’m gladly help anyone who takes him out.”

Lana’s smile is grim. “I will contact Darth Imperius shortly then. I’m sure her resources on that world will be invaluable - as will her lightsaber against the Paladins.”

Jezhara is watching her sister suspiciously. “What about you?”

Lieca frowns at the Sith. “Gaden-Ko came to Odessen sometime ago to request the Alliance’s aid against Zakuul,” she says succinctly, and it’s probably one of the few times Calli’s ever heard her lie near-successfully. “I wish to go to Voss to try to build an alliance there, and to work to take out the Voss Star Fortress. Cera will stay with our children, who I want to send back to Odessen, but I would like Calli and Theron to come with me.”

Jezhara’s brow rises. “Oh? And I suppose you think you are capable of fighting the Exarch and the Paladins then?” she says sarcastically.

Theron is stopped by Lieca’s hand on his arm, and she merely stares at the Pureblood. “I will ask Tal to join us, especially as he has already worked to liberate Balmorra. Sana-Rae too. Satele will be fine to handle Odessen’s Force users until you and Lana return,” she says, before her smile turns teasing as she looks to Lana. “And you will feel happier with your agents back under your own control yes?”

Lana already looks relieved. “Are you sure you won’t need us on Voss?”

Theron’s stiff posture is basically giving the game away, and Calli glares at him as Lieca shakes her head. “No, no, we will be fine,” she says sweetly. “I actually want to ask the Mandalorians for help there too - Voss numbers are thinner than the support we’ll have on Nar Shaddaa, and I know Skyrii is jealous she hasn’t been invited to one yet. And of course, Koth and Raj with the Gravestone, in case we need air support. Nar Shaddaa’s skies are too busy for the Gravestone to avoid collateral damage. ”

Lana rolls her eyes. “Of course. Anything else?”

“No, that should be fine. If you want to start trying to organise the liberation of Hoth next? We’ll keep an eye on Vaylin in the meantime. I’ll go contact Tal and Skyrii now.”

It feels a little like that was too easy… and then she notices Geralt’s eyes on her from across the room, Bowdaar still solid at her back. She ignores his piercing pale-blue stare, turning to look at her best friend. “Whataya say Bowie, wanna come to Voss with me?”

He growls, and she smiles. “Yeah yeah, I’ll accept your help. But no-one else’s! I don’t need anyone else when I’ve got my Bowie.”

He huffs, sounding pleased, and she moves to hug him immediately.

The less thinking she does about this, the better.

Right?


	26. Voss

It’s such a weird feeling, being on Voss again. Calli doesn’t exactly have the fondest memories of this world - Geralt running off on one of his harebrained schemes had of course been hilarious, but she had been bored nearly out of her mind at the same time. If she concentrates hard, she can still hear Risha shouting at him for deciding to deliberately get himself frozen in carbonite for... hell, who even knows what reasons. She still can’t work it out years later.

She had wasted time around Voss-Ka, browsing aimlessly in the market and trying to find somewhere to drink that offered something other than goddamn tea; eventually, she must have given off the right sort of vibes in her ambling, because a Republic bureaucrat had singled her out and begged her to undertake a job for him, to contact his sister at the ‘ _Shrine of Healing_ ’. Easy work, and it gave her and Bowie something to do that felt more helpful than sitting on their ship waiting for the fucking Voidwolf to show up and blast them.

Staring out of the cockpit of the Gravestone as Koth and Raj pilot the ship into Voss’s atmosphere (teasingly bickering at each other in the process) just brings up other memories she thought she’d forgotten.

She doesn’t even remember the grateful girl’s name, but she does remember... the Voss at the shrine, offering to thank her with entry into one of their trials? Bowie had been pretty hesitant, but she’d been twenty, bored, and convinced she was immortal. To all intents and purposes, it sort of sounded like they’d been offering her some kind of spice - go off into the other realm and fight your figurative demons? Drugs weren’t exactly her cup of tea, but hey, when in Zeltros...

Hop, skip, and a jump later, and she was getting some weird fucking Force vision or something? _Stars_ , she doesn’t even really remember it, just the sensation of feeling like her back was up against the wall and wanting to slap someone incorporeal. Typical Voss, not even anything helpful that she could’ve used against the Voidwolf, or really anything else in her life. Clearly nothing useful, since she couldn’t even fucking _remember_ it. Just a flash of memory of bright blue eyes, and some asshole telling her she wasn’t needed anymore.

Fuck that shit. She’d heard that enough in her life thanks, no spooky Force visions of stupidity needed there.

She huffs and steps back and almost into Bowdaar, who growls at her soothingly. If she remembers correctly, Lieca had had some weird vision thingy in the shrine too, but hers was about her old Master or something?

Probably far more useful, since she actually had the Force and shit.

The point is, she doesn’t particularly like Voss.

It doesn’t really help that they’re all like fifty feet tall or whatever, too - she’s used to Bowdaar towering over her, but Bowdaar is a _friend_ , a guardian, her own fluffy mountain. The Voss are giant and scary and _weird_ with their visions and shit - the personification of what she had feared her sisters would have turned into. All those weird stories people tell about emotionless Jedi, just droning on about the Force, except its ‘ _Mystics_ ’ and their ‘ _visions_ ’ and _ugh_.

It takes far less time than she would’ve thought for them to shuttle down to the surface and be escorted to meet Gaden-Ko in some fancy tea house. Life on Voss seems to revolve entirely around tea, and the sacred bullshit they build up around it - but she can kind of admit that the tea house is super cute. Low tables made from dark polished wood, with colourful green and red cushions scattered across the floor for them to kneel or sit upon. The walls are decorated with intricate tapestries and beaded displays, all of which form patterns that she can’t tell if they’re language or just abstract art; the lanterns overhead are made of thin flimsi, and the frames are decorated with yet more beads. Every now and then a breeze knocks them just enough for them to tinkle ever so slightly, the clay bead clacking together in a quiet melody. She’d never chose the style for herself if she was asked to decorate anything, but yeah. Cute.

The Voss who seats them and brings them tea seems to be watching them curiously, but Lieca doesn’t say anything about their mission - secret or otherwise -, and the rest of them nervously follow her lead, settling on the cushions and waiting awkwardly for a drink to be passed their way. Calli is only a little gleeful at how uncomfortable Theron looks to be as he tries to work out whether he’s supposed to angle his long, lanky legs under the table, or whether he’s supposed to balance on the cushion.

Only a little gleeful. She needs to take moments of glee where she finds them, right now.

Lieca’s only just finished pouring some tea for everyone when the beaded curtains on the other side of the room are pushed aside, and she practically goes flying off her cushions towards them so fast that the saucers rattle.

Gaden-Ko seems pleased, if flustered, by her greeting (if she can even read Voss right in the first place), and her sister quickly dips into a respectful bow, eyes shining, before all but tackling the man who followed him into the room. The twi’lek is clearly a little startled, grunting as he catches her, but also very pleased as he spins her around in the air.

Hey, he’s quite cute. More people should go for the whole aesthetically pleasing armour look, honestly. Her smile drops as her memory apparently decides to focus on stupidface _Arcann_ as an example of delightfully aesthetically pleasing armour, and she huffily puts her teacup back down on the table. Thankfully, nobody notices her burning cheeks.

Lieca is laughing as he puts her down again, her smile so wide it’s almost a little unnerving. “Tal! You’re here!”

The twi’lek - obviously her sisters’ friend Tal’nerra now that she searches her memory - grins warmly at her, the dark stripes of his lekku making the pleased twitching movements they’re making more obvious. “Of course! I wouldn’t miss seeing my favourite Jedi for the world,” he says, bright blue eyes somehow still standing out despite his pale blue colouring.

Lieca giggles, stepping back to brush down her skirts as Theron slowly unfolds himself from his cushion with difficulty. “Don’t say that, Cera will never let you hear the end of it,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed but delighted.

Tal’nerra’s grin widens. “I’m fairly certain she knows you’re my favourite - you certainly gave me far less heart attacks over the years,” he answers dryly, nodding politely at Theron. “I understand congratulations are in order?”

Theron nods back in greeting, stepping close enough to Lieca to slip his arm around her waist, his cheeks a little pink. “Yeah, they are. Thanks,” he says gruffly, almost stumbling as Lieca quickly moves to kiss his cheek.

“Yes, everything is going wonderfully,” her sister says, staring at Theron all dreamily and honestly, she agrees with Bowdaar’s soft growl. They’re kinda sickening.

Gaden-Ko seems to almost share her opinion, looking over towards their little table. “Oh, my apologies. I did not realise you were in the middle of tea. I shall come back, when you are done.”

Lieca shakes her head quickly, reaching out to catch the Voss’s arm. “Nonsense! Please, Gaden-Ko, join us. I would enjoy your company.”

The Voss seems uncertain, but Lieca quickly loops her arm through his and pulls both him and Theron back to the table, Tal’nerra following behind and looking rather amused. “It is often easier to just agree with her rather than protest,” he observes dryly.

Lieca glares at him for a moment, but is all sunny smiles when Gaden-Ko smoothly kneels on his cushion beside her. They all have to shuffle a little to accommodate the newcomers - she’s pretty sure Theron was all but glued to Lieca’s side now, and she’s practically in Bowdaar’s lap - but it feels... nice. Cozy even.

She jumps as Tal’s lekku brush up against her arm as he sits down too, and he looks rather embarrassed as he re-settles slightly further away. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters quickly. “Ah, Calli, right?”

She nods. “Yep, that’s me,” she starts slowly. “What do you know about me?”

He sighs. “That I’d rather have trained you than the terror triplets they saddled me with,” he responds slyly, and Lieca gasps in mock horror.

He quickly moves his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry Lieca, you just make it too easy,” he says with a quick smile. “You girls certainly kept me on my toes though.”

Calli frowns for a moment before clarity strikes, momentarily distracted by the swirling colours of Gaden Ko’s arm as he moves to reach the teapot across the table. “Huh? Oh, that’s right. You were their... sparring instructor? Or something?”

He nods, accepting the teacup from Theron. “Something like that. Before a Jedi is asked to take on a padawan, we are usually asked to stand as a mentor to the younger ones, those only just recently stepping out from their Masters’ guidance. It’s good practice at building the sort of skills and relationships necessary to nurture and guide a padawan of our own.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Calli said dryly, reaching for a pastry.

“You’ve Cera’s flare for the sarcastic, I see,” he said, amused rather than annoyed. “I’ve known your sisters since we were kids - never really expected to end up being vaguely responsible for them, especially when they dragged Kira into their mischief. They just liked trying to prove to the Masters that they didn’t really need me - and then proving five minutes later that they actually did.”

Lieca flushes a soft pink, ducking her head in embarrassment. “Oh, we weren’t that bad-” she starts hastily before he interrupts.

“Oh? So, Taris was just my imagination? And Quesh, when you decided that dramatically fainting into an Imperial diplomat’s arms was the best course of action? What about Codename: Butterflies and-”

Lieca quickly waves her hands in front of her before burying her face in her hands. “Okay! Okay, I get it, I get it. I’m sorry.”

He looks at her curiously, shaking his head in amusement before turning to Theron. “I thought humans traditionally celebrated with rings?” he asks, clearly having focused on Lieca’s bare hand, and Theron groans, mumbling something about needing shopping time.

Anything that annoys Theron makes her feel better, and she gleefully reaches across for another little baked sweet of some kind just as Bowdaar swipes the last one from her plate and she pretends not to notice. He nudges her shoulder at the realisation it’s his favourite flavour not hers, and she nudges him back.

Gaden-Ko waits politely for everyone to have a fresh cup of tea and then clears his throat. “Lieca, you have done much for my people,” he starts hesitantly. “You helped me to become a Mystic. Stepped in to replace the role of my family. Saved me.”

Her sister goes pink, clearly embarrassed. “Gaden-Ko, I-”

He holds up his hand to stop her. “No, these things must be said. Your protection, your counsel. I... missed you a great deal while you were gone. I still need to repay the debt I owe you. The debt that Voss owes you.”

Lieca reaches out hesitantly to touch his arm, and he accepts her touch with no further gestures. “Gaden-Ko, you already helped me,” she says earnestly. “You joined the Rift Alliance. The Voss helped to save Corellia. I could not have done those things without you.”

Gaden-Ko still doesn’t seem to agree, his weirdly segmented golden eyes focused on Lieca while he frowns. “That was not enough. The Mystics decree. Especially as you come to offer more aid now.”

Calli sighs. “I’m still surprised you guys have left it up there for so long. The Voss commandos didn’t want to just destroy it themselves?”

Lieca’s expression suddenly promises murder and Theron’s smirking at her even as Gaden-Ko looks to her. “No, they did not,” he says easily, and she’s fairly certain he missed her sarcasm entirely. “The Mystics had a vision of these events. The Star Fortress was left alone.”

Theron lifts his teacup to his mouth, all smug. “And the Voss aren’t good with foreign technology,” he continues near gleefully. “And- _ow_!”

From the way he flinches, Lieca had clearly pinched him under the table, her expression the picture of innocence. “Never mind,” she says cheerfully, only a hint of warning in her words. “You were saying, Gaden-Ko?”

The Voss seems a little confused. “I... yes. Yes. The Mystics have interpreted a vision. We must go speak to the Tribunal. The Adjudicators wish to speak with the Mystics and the Outsiders to decide on our actions.”

Calli pauses. _Fuck_. “Wait. The Adjudicators? Um... is there any chance they’ve changed in the last ten years?”

Lieca’s eyes are suddenly very piercing, and Theron raises an eyebrow even as Gaden-Ko responds. “No, the Adjudicators are the same,” he says guilelessly. “Is there something the matter?”

Bowdaar huffs and growls, and Theron’s jaw drops. “Wait wait, you did _what_?”

Calli winces. “Hey! It wasn’t like that at all!” she grumbles, poking Bowdaar in the side. “I just, um, it was _Geralt_ who went to court, okay!”

Tal sighs even as Lieca gets her disapproving _mum_ glare on. Gaden-Ko seems surprised. “You corrupted the moral health of an honores?” he says, sounding shocked.

Calli’s face flames. Thankfully Bowdaar didn’t give any damn details, but she’s still going to kill him. “I didn’t corrupt anyone!” she says hotly. “ _Geralt_ was the one who got him all involved in the illegal importing trade and- and, they totally would’ve pinned it on him anyway! It’s not _my_ fault!”

Plus, Geralt would’ve probably fucking seduced that Voss chaperone guy if she hadn’t, honestly. He was the only one sentenced to community service - and teased her the entire time he was getting letters back and forth from the Voss. Ugh, the bastard.

Theron looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and Lieca glares at him. Tal folds his arms, looking a little amused. “Well, how about you lovebirds go off to try to convince the council and Calli and I will stay here to avoid any political unpleasantness?” he says dryly, winking at her.

Gaden-Ko still seems unsettled, and she suspects the slang confuses him. “I, uh, yes. Sana-Rae has already spoken to the Mystics, and they will be expecting us.”

He nods politely in farewell and starts to stand up again, Lieca and Theron quickly following suit. Tal’nerra then coughs pointedly. “Gaden-Ko, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Gaden-Ko pauses, and Lieca makes a strange face, looking suddenly towards the door in the same manner of someone who has sensed movement out of the corner of their eye. “Oh! You are right. Lieca, please, I must show you something.”

Not one to be left out, Calli quickly scrambles to her feet and follows them as Gaden-Ko leads them into another room of the teahouse. Lieca’s soft gasp of surprise makes her curious, and she peeks around her sister to see what she’s looking at.

“Dia?!”

The twi'lek doctor is lounging on a divan in one of the other tea rooms, looking for all the world like a queen deigning to acknowledge her subjects as she reads a datapad. “Hmph. Does this mean we'll _finally_ get a move on?” she says, looking up at Gaden-Ko with obvious distaste. “I would like to go see my patient now, if you’ll actually tell me where he is, _thank you very much._ ”

Lieca shares an uncertain look with Theron and Calli facepalms.

 

* * *

 

Senya paces around the chamber as the healers tend to her son, desperately trying not to cry at the soft sounds of pain he makes every now and again in his delirium.

To her almost hysterical relief, when she had arrived on the planet some days ago now (between her own poor eating and sleeping habits she has no idea how many days have actually passed), the Voss had been rather welcoming. She had readied herself for the possibility that they would be met with hostility, that she would need to beg or cajole or even threaten them to aid Arcann, but instead had been met by healers who almost seemed to have been expecting their arrival. She had not thought that her tea and conversations with young Gaden-Ko would actually lead to much aid being offered - she had desperately hoped, of course, but the actual offer of aid without question or suspicion had left her feeling rather overwhelmed.

She is starting to consider that perhaps she had been a bit hasty removing Arcann from Dia’ayla’s care. The Voss are obviously well-trained in their mystical healings, but the sight of her little boy just left to lie there on a bed, the injuries to his arm, side and face blindingly obvious even to her - well, it just makes her feel a little unsettled. True, his colouring seems better than when they travelled here several days ago, and the angry red of infection is gone from his face, but she can’t tell for sure what was set in motion by the sith doctor’s care, and what is a result of the uninterrupted bedrest and healing of the Voss. Thankfully, he’s been mostly unconscious since they left Dia’ayla, only waking when the Voss combine their powers to focus on more intensive sessions of healing at intermittent intervals. The process always wakes him without fail, and each time she stays steadfastly at his side, singing quietly to him as she holds his remaining hand and strokes his brow, trying to make sense of the babble as he switches between Zakuulan and Galactic Basic and a dozen other languages in a sentence, brushing away the tears on his cheek as she tries to soothe him.

Sometimes she imagines he’s almost there with her, like the fevers are breaking and he’s trying to talk to her, like her son is almost free of this hellscape her own cowardice left him trapped in for so long. Sometimes he manages names, and she does her best not to cry with him when he pleads hoarsely for his mother in the voice of a frightened child, or when he cries out for Thexan, or Vaylin.

Or Calli.

But that doesn’t matter right now, because the only thing that matters is keeping Arcann safe and getting him the medical care he needs, and right now, something is threatening her ability to provide those. Whatever warnings the Force is trying to provide her feels like ice water down her spine, and she knows that they are running out of time. She does not know if the threat comes from Vaylin, or the Alliance, or from the thousands upon thousands of enemies that Arcann made during his ill-advised tenure on the throne, but as the heavy stone doors on the far side of the chamber swing slowly open, she has a feeling she’s about to find out.

The co-ordinator for the healers at the Shrine glides into the room with purpose, moving towards the head healer. “Kanna-Lo, the Mystics send word. Exarch Melor will turn against the Shrine today. You will be needed. Prepare your people.”

Senya feels distinctly as though the floor is trying to move out from under her. The Exarch is coming here? Is he coming here for her? For them?

The coordinator turns to leave and Senya steps forward quickly. “Please! A moment of your time?”

The woman turns back, posture rather reserved for the enormity of the news she has brought. “Outsider.”

She flushes at the reminder of her place, quickly bowing her head in greeting. “A question, if I may? What cause does the Exarch have to turn against your people?”

The woman’s glowing blue eyes reveal nothing, her voice only showing dissonant serenity. “The Mystics granted an audience to Lieca Amell. Exarch Melor views this as treason. The Star Fortress moves to striking range now.”

Her heart thumps in her chest. “Lieca is here? The Alliance is here?”

The Voss finally shows an emotion, frowning. “The Alliance is your Outsider name. The Exarch is only concerned for Lieca Amell. Gaden-Ko has spoken.”

Gaden-Ko... he told the Alliance where she is? Are they here for her? For Arcann?

Have they come to take Arcann away?

... have they come to finish the job?

She will not allow this. She will not let her boy be hurt anymore. He saved her, he trusted her. He can be saved in return, she _knows_ this.

Kanna-Lo turns on her heel to follow the other Voss, and panic strikes fast enough to break through her morose thoughts. “Wait!” she cries, running forward desperately to Arcann’s bedside, side-stepping the male Voss healer who tries to intercept her. “I need my son. Now!”

Kanna-Lo pauses, her voice softly tinged with regret. “There is not enough time.”

She will not allow this! “No! Take me instead. You said you needed a sacrifice? Take me, please!”

“You do not understand-”

“Do whatever you must! Just save my son!”

If he’s healed, at least he has a chance to escape. It doesn’t matter what happens to her.

The Alliance might help her, but they will not help Arcann. Lieca is only one voice among many.

Her boy deserves a chance.

Kanna-Lo eventually nods, and Senya sinks to her knees at Arcann’s bedside, running her hand over his scarred face and trying not to cry. “Thank you, thank you,” she says desperately, as the Voss kneel around her.

The Voss say nothing as they dip their heads in concentration, and she can only hope that it doesn’t hurt too badly.

But Arcann needs her. She won’t walk away again.

 

* * *

 

They are halfway to the Shrine of Healing when another explosion hits - far too close to the road for comfort - and Calli can’t help the way she instinctively tries to veer their speederbike away from the vibration. None of the others reacted with nearly as much force as she did, and Bowdaar growls reassuringly as he rights their course. She tries to calm her racing nerves and trust in Bowie’s piloting, but fuck - the explosions of Asylum’s bombardment still ring horrifyingly in her ears, and she scrunches her eyes up tight and presses her face into the Wookiee’s furry back.

Shortly after Lieca and Theron had returned from their discussions with the Mystics or the Adjudicators or whatever it is they were doing (and she solidly trumped Bowdaar at dejarik in their second game in the tea house), they had received word that the Exarch knew of their presence on the planet and was spitefully retaliating against the Shrine of Healing.

Aka: where Senya and Arcann apparently happened to be.

They’d studiously avoided talking openly about the presence of the Tiralls on the planet, with the exception of Dia who had paced relentlessly waiting for permission to leave the city and make for their holy place, and even after Lieca’s return the atmosphere had been terse and awkward, as if nobody had wanted to bring the subject up at all. Calli had been going out of her goddamn mind trying to rationalise it all, and Dia’s impatient noises had only made her anxiety worse. Were they only there to make sure that no one interfered with Arcann’s recovery, or were they there to help? Were they going to take him into custody when he was hale again, or were they going to stand by like idiots and just smile blankly while he dashed to a shuttle and fled the planet?

The announcement of the Exarch’s imminent attack was almost a relief, if only because it meant they were doing _something_. Anything was better than sitting around getting stuck in her own head.

The Voss had already begun to make arrangements to defend the city, and from what little they bothered to pass on, apparently the Gormak were involved too - bloody Voss and their visions they decided not to share with anyone else. What good were fucking visions if you didn’t fucking communicate with anyone about them, and just waited for them to happen by themselves? From what she’d overheard, apparently Lieca had _singlehandedly_ persuaded the Voss and Gormak to work together when she was first on the planet years ago (she went rather pink at that praise, begging Gaden-Ko to stop talking immediately because others had most certainly been involved), and Theron somehow had contacts among the Gormak or something, and so they were acting to defend the planet as well?

Fuck, who even knows, nobody tells her anything.

Lieca had seemed pleased with the uneasy alliance between Voss and Gormak, if increasingly anxious as their party was confined to the inner sanctums of Voss-Ka. Gaden-Ko had finally acquired permission for them to leave and journey to the holy lands, which left their little squad racing towards the Shrine to try to beat the Exarch there - Gaden-Ko didn’t know if the Exarch just knew about Lieca, or if he also knew about Arcann. Besides, even if the Exarch was attacking the Shrine only as a retaliation against them, they had a responsibility to help out - or so Lieca rationalised it.

They didn’t have enough speeders for them all to use one, so everyone pairs off - she quickly jumps on behind Bowdaar, Lieca and Theron naturally gravitate towards a shared speeder since they’re already joined at the hip, leaving Dia’ayla and Tal’nerra to share the third. For her own sanity, she decides to ignore the way Lieca and Theron are behaving on theirs (there is just no way that she wants to notice her sister’s wandering hands where she’s pressed against her fiance’s back) and instead focuses on the hilarious image of Tal’nerra wrapped securely around Dia’ayla’s larger, significantly more muscled frame.

The annoyed look he gives her at her amusement helps keep her mind off what’s waiting for them at the Shrine itself.

They pass a few squads of Gormak and Voss on the way, preparing defences while the Star Fortress slowly moves into position in the sky above them. It makes her feel a little bit sick and she presses her face into Bowdaar’s back, squeezing tighter at his mournful cry at her distress. The orbital bombardment has not begun in full yet, and they won’t fire the main weapon while the Exarch is still on the surface, but she’s seen the footage of the attack on Bothuwai, and it’s hard not to have it flash before her eyes whenever she looks skyward and sees the giant station gradually opening up into attack preparation.

When they finally reach the Shrine, she tells herself it’s just stress about the whole ‘ _calm before the storm_ ’ phase of the obvious ‘ _about to be under-attack_ ’ thing, but her legs are still shaking as she dismounts from their speeder. In desperate need of a distraction, she rolls her eyes to see Lieca and Theron still being ridiculously cute despite the stress of the situation and the time constraints, though Lieca is oddly favouring her left shoulder as she loops her arms around Theron’s neck. Goddamn lovebirds. _Ugh_.

Dia’ayla’s noise of disgust at their affectionate display is drowned out by Lieca suddenly crying in pain, pulling away from Theron and moving her right hand to her left shoulder. She almost falls to one knee before Theron catches her, clear distress on his own face as Lieca’s eyes suddenly flare, glowing briefly white.

Calli panics.

She stalks forward, shrill anger born of hysterical worry as she fights off Bowdaar’s restraining hand on her arm. “What the _fuck_ happened?” she snarls. Seeing Lieca in obvious pain is still apparently really not okay for her, as much as she knows that this isn’t Asylum, and she isn’t going to die. Again. Well, hopefully.

Almost as quickly as she stumbles, her sister straightens again, surprisingly ignoring both her and Theron to address Dia’ayla instead, her eyes swirling back to clear blue. “Something’s wrong,” she says quickly.

“No shit!” Calli says shrilly, hands on her hips to stop herself from gesticulating wildly. From behind her, Bowdaar puts both hands on her shoulders, and the familiar weight of his grasp and the warmth of him at her back makes her take a shaky breath, gaze darting to the ground as she tries to rein in her panicked reaction.

Lieca throws her a briefly sympathetic look before turning back to Dia; the twi’lek doctor sighs, rolling her neck and already looking deeply unhappy, dark painted lips pulled down in a deep frown. “I suspected the Voss rituals, but I thought we would have more time. Senya is being reckless,” she growls, stalking off towards the Shrine.

Lieca follows her quickly even as Theron tries to catch her arm to ask her a question, given that she is remarkably pale for trying to shrug it off as ‘ _nothing happening_ ’. But Lieca charges off after Dia, apparently on a mission now, and he rushes to catch up to them. It’s clear even from where Calli trails behind them that Theron is desperately trying to get her sister’s attention, and while she vaguely feels sorry for him, she also has to wonder why he’s not used to her bullheaded need to save the world at the expense of herself yet. “Hold up, er, ladies. What’s going on?”

Dia’s longer legs mean the entire team is basically jogging to keep up with her purposeful stride. “Shan, do try to pay attention,” she says tiredly, clearly gritting her teeth. “Your lover’s Force bond with Arcann leaves her feeling his pain when he is unguarded. That is, when he is unconscious because he and his mother are _too stupid to follow medical advice and stay with a trained professional.”_

She then pauses to take a breath as they round a corner, picking up a nervous Voss escort as they move when she angrily gestures to them. “Take us to the healers’ priority patient,” she snaps, almost dismissively.

As soon as they have a direction from their guide, she starts again. “Which certainly explains the phantom shoulder pain she has no doubt been hiding since the attack on Alderaan,” she says pointedly, and Lieca quickly looks away from Theron’s hurt expression.

“Wait, so that’s been because of _Arcann_? All this time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Lieca mumbles, cheeks flushed. “You were being so sweet at looking after me, I just-”

Calli scoffs. “So basically you just wanted to be spoiled, but didn’t want to explain that you were actually fine?”

Lieca glares at her. “It’s not that simple-” she starts hotly, only to be interrupted by Dia again.

The Sith doctor sniffs disdainfully. Hmm, she better not be able to read minds, else she might kill her for calling her a sith, even if just in her head. “ _Regardless_ , it also means that Lieca will be able to feel the phantom effects of any healing done on his more critical injuries, since the more serious the concentration required, the more it bleeds over and can be felt across the bond. I suspect she could tell almost immediately when my healing was used on the boy, ergo, her reaction now means that the Voss are likely healing Arcann as we speak.”

Bowdaar growls and Theron nods. “Yeah, I’m with the Wookiee. They’ve been here for days, at least. Why did the Voss wait til now?”

Calli stiffens, a flash of memory in her mind’s eye, but Lieca responds first, sounding exhausted. “I’ll not deny that I’ve been able to feel some shadows of his pain these last few days, but the strongest Voss healing rituals require reciprocity,” she says quietly. “Strength for strength. It is a significant sacrifice, depending on the strength of the giver at the time. It... it’s incredibly draining.”

Tal’nerra huffs behind her. “Yes Lieca, _please_ , tell us all about how reckless _you_ were last time that we were here,” he says pointedly. “I’m pretty sure it took both myself and Felix to hold you down to make you recover from _that_ one.”

Lieca flushes again, wincing and stumbling as her hand goes to her shoulder again, and Theron slips his arm around her waist as Tal’nerra lingers behind them to intervene should she collapse further. “Yes yes, I still remember the lecture Tal,” she says, breathless with just that small flash of pain.

Calli sniffs. “So why wait then?”

Lieca looks at her, her own eyes reflected back at her, if a little more pain-filled. “Senya may not have been desperate enough until word arrived of the Exarch’s attack,” she says quietly. “The Voss will heal outsiders, but they will not sacrifice their own people for them. The damage done to Arcann - I suspect it is significant. Even after Dia’s work, healing him will require more than most would be willing to give.”

Any further conversation is cut off by the force of another explosion, this time rocking the temple itself, and Calli shrieks as a section of the roof dislodges and heads towards them. But Lieca moves faster than she can see, and the ceiling debris suddenly crashes off some sort of invisible shield, a dome of safety around them all even as her sister curses and pushes her arms higher.

Dia’ayla pushes her hand towards Lieca, and something vaguely purple flickers between them. “Lieca, please be more careful,” the twi’lek says crossly, and Lieca warily brings her arms down as the debris stops. Everybody coughs in the aftermath, as dust and bits of grit and chips of rock continue to patter down gently, and Calli waves her hands irritably in front of her face to clear the air.

But Lieca’s eyes are wide and panicked and blazing with white light again, even as Theron and Tal’nerra both steady her with their hands on her shoulders. “We have to hurry!”

Their Voss escort, having also cowered at the falling ceiling, apparently take her words as an order, and turns to race towards their destination, leaving the rest of them trailing after.

They finally reach the ritual room to see the healers kneeling around two beds in the centre of the room, and her heart jumps into her throat at the sight of Arcann lying there, filthy and covered in tiny wounds, but obviously alive.

One Voss healer is still standing, his hand on Senya’s forehead where she lies in an identical bed a few metres from Arcann’s, and he looks up angrily at the approaching group - or as angry as a Voss is able to emote, she supposes. “Why are you here?” he demands.

Lieca tries to step forward and the Voss’s other hand flies up towards her. “No! You will disrupt the healing!”

Theron makes a noise of confusion, and Lieca sighs. “They have taken what they needed from Senya, and now they need to use it to heal Arcann,” she says quietly, looking at the ex-Emperor with a deep sadness emanating from her.

He looks so tiny in that bed, especially with his left arm entirely gone.

The female Voss closest to them nods, slowly moving to her feet even as the other kneeling Voss start to glow a soft gold. “Yes. A sacrifice. A mother’s life essence, to heal her son. He needs time, to recover his strength. We will help him.”

Lieca looks uncertainly towards the entrance of the room, as if she can see through the thick stone walls to the encroaching Zakuulan forces. “How much time do you need?”

The healer’s expression does not change. “Time.”

Dia’ayla growls. “Well, while your mystical Force healing works, might I actually inspect my damn patient?” she snaps, stepping over towards Arcann without waiting for a response in the affirmative.

There is a trace of irritation in the female healer’s voice now, the male healer tending to Senya visibly annoyed as Dia stalks over to them. “Do not use any Force healings of your own. You will disrupt everything,” she warns.

Dia’ayla sighs, dumping her large medical kit bag she’d insisted on lugging over here on the ground. “You have a critically injured man that you’ve just left on a bed with no life support systems, and only the barest essentials of medical care have been provided. You haven’t even cleaned his damn wounds. I can’t do worse than you,” she says crossly, kneeling at Arcann’s side while she pulls a tiny little torch from her bag.

The healers ignore her, the female turning to Lieca. “You should sit down. You are too pale.”

Lieca shakes her head, and Tal’nerra suddenly flinches and looks to the door. “I don’t think we’ll have time,” he says regretfully, and Lieca’s holocom suddenly dings.

It’s loud enough to make her jump, even from where she is studiously staring towards the wall, trying to convince herself it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever stared at. Anything to occupy her, so that she doesn’t have to look at Arcann and Senya just lying there while she’s standing here, completely useless.

Lieca pulls out her holocom, apparently making a decided effort to sound cheerful but just sounding tired. “Gaden-Ko. What is it?”

The Voss sounds stressed. _“Exarch Andur Melor is almost to the Shrine. Voss commandos are in place, with Gormak assistance. I worry they will not be enough. The Mystics have had no visions of this encounter. Something is trying to block us out. Can you aid them?”_

Judging from Theron’s sound of concern, Lieca had all but flinched at the news. “Liss?”

“I’m fine, Theron. I just... damnit!”

Her sister’s cursing is still uncharacteristic enough that she turns to face her, and finds Lieca staring back at her miserably. “Lieca? What is it?”

“Even if I was at full strength, I cannot hope to defeat an Exarch,” Lieca says quietly. “Especially if I’m being affected by what happens here.”

Tal’nerra clears his throat, pulling out his twin lightsabers. “Well Liss, it’s a good thing you brought me along isn’t it?” he says dryly. “I mean, I know I’m not Cera, but I do happen to be pretty good at what I can do.”

The shining blue blades of his ignited sabers seems to relax both her and Lieca equally, but she can still feel dread down her spine. The last time she was involved in a fight with a lightsaber user, it went kinda spectacularly badly after all.

She glares over at Arcann’s bed to see Dia sticking something over his ruined eye, still mumbling in what sounds like a combination of Twi’leki and Huttese as she prods at his wounds and hisses at the hovering Voss healers.

Calli jumps at the feeling of Lieca’s hand on her arm, and when she turns around her sister’s eyes are sad. “Calli? Were you listening?”

She blinks. “Uh, no, sorry. What are we doing?”

Lieca sighs. “The Exarch seems to be nearly here. Tal, Theron and I will go to help the Voss commandos hold him off. I wish we had another combat oriented Force user with us, but I wasn’t expecting to face the Exarch here at this time.”

Tal’nerra makes a soft noise, stowing his lightsabers again. “Liss, we will be fine. And the Voss commandos held off the Sith and the Jedi. They will be able to help us defeat the Exarch. Koth and Raj are keeping the Star Fortress busy with the Gravestone, so at least reinforcements won’t be too much of an issue.”

“Wonderful, then you can use my assistance,” Dia says suddenly, and Calli realises the twi’lek has abandoned Arcann’s bedside to join with their group.

Lieca looks mildly hesitant and Dia raises her brow. “I abandoned the Sith, but I am still fully capable on the battlefield,” she says mildly, a dangerous flicker of purple tinged lightning forming around her fingers. “I relish the chance to crush these cruel Exarchs.”

Lieca opens her mouth and Dia sighs. “There is little I can do for the boy in the meantime,” she says grumpily, gesturing over her shoulder with a wave of her hand, the lightning dissipating from her fingers like smoke. “He is as comfortable as he can be until this _‘healing ritual’_ is finalised. I have checked his vitals and cleaned the wounds on his face and shoulder, and they are as settled as they are going to be in the immediate future. He needs extensive reconstructive surgery, but...” She shrugged. “He will survive until we deal with the more immediate threat of the Exarch.”

She then growls. “However, if any of you tell Ysaine that I preferenced modern medical advancements over Force healing, I will not bother to make your deaths look like an accident.”

Okaaaaay. “So, what about us?” Calli asks quickly, gesturing to her and Bowdaar.

The hesitance on Lieca’s face speaks volumes, and Theron answers her instead, clearly frustrated. “Look, we need someone to keep an eye on Arcann and Senya and make sure they don’t wander off,” he says quickly, and the smartass in her tries desperately to fight to the surface to point out that neither of them are in condition to go anywhere. “The Voss probably have it all under control here, but we’ve already seen that our idea of ‘ _under control_ ’ and their idea of ‘ _under control_ ’ are very different, and-”

“Theron, they are right there, they can literally hear you.”

“-and I’m pretty sure you don’t exactly relish taking on an Exarch. And in case something does happen, I’m sure Bowdaar wants to help keep an eye out for you.”

She bristles. “Of course I don’t want to fight a fucking Exarch, they have _laser spears_ ,” she snaps, furious at them for basically throwing her to the dogs and implying she’s nothing more than a helpless damsel. “So why the fuck do you think _you’re_ going to be of any help?”

Theron’s expression is tight. “Because I don’t exactly want to watch my _fiance_ go off into battle again, while I sit on the sidelines _again_ , hoping she doesn’t come back nearly-dead _again_ ,” he snarls back, golden eyes narrowed in anger.

Lieca catches his arm. “Love, please,” she says quickly. “Calli, please, will you be alright here? I want at least somebody here to look out for Arcann and Senya... and as a final defence if required. Someone I can trust..”

She swallows. “Um... I just hope it’s not required,” she says weakly, her heart still in her throat, and Lieca luckily hears her unspoken plea and steps forward to enfold her in a fierce hug.

“I love you Calli, so much,” her sister murmurs in her ear, and she can barely return the sentiment before they’re gone.

Leaving her alone in a room with Arcann.

Well, thankfully not really alone. She still has a couple of Voss healers, an unconscious Senya, and a clearly displeased Bowdaar from the way he folds his arms, as well. It’s not _just_ her and Arcann.

She sighs, blowing her hair off her forehead. Guess she should... hang around nearby if she’s supposed to help? What the fuck is her basic first aid training going to do anyway, he had an entire fleet land on his stupid fat head.

She inches over to the beds almost in a daze, deliberately keeping her eyes on Senya. The tears burn at her eyes as she stares down at the woman who had comforted her on her really fucking stupid choices. No judgement, no calling her out - just being comforting. Supportive. What a mother was supposed to be - you know, if she’d even still had one.

Another explosion rocks the building, the ceiling tiles rattling with a fine shower of dust coming loose; the Voss healers don’t even flinch, continuing on with their ritual as if orbital bombardments are just another part of their day. Bowdaar is clearly unsettled with the need to fight, pacing slowly back and forth nearer to the door with the measured gait of a hunter; he’s clearly waiting to crush any opposition that might make it past the defenders at the front doors, and the soft growls he lets out now and then sound like the sort of noise a dog might make in warning, right before it attacks. The building rattles again, the explosion slightly further away this time, but the green and gold lanterns in the ceiling still rattle, the shadows dancing around the room with the movement. She almost pulls out her holo to call up Koth and Raj to scream at them about what they think they’re doing up there, given that they’re supposed to be drawing the station’s fire away from the surface. But that would be cruel. It’s not their fault, after all.

The sounds settle, and this deep in the temple, there’s no way the noise of a battle could reach them, so everything goes eerily still again. In the quiet, she realises at some point that she started hugging herself, almost shivering out of fear, and she puts her arms back down at her sides forcefully.

And in the quiet, without explosions to distract her, that leaves her alone with the giant fucking bantha in the room - unconscious Arcann.

Somewhere, someone in the universe is laughing at her.

She huffs and finally turns to look at him, resolving to just get it out of the way and then move on.

He’s far less imposing, lying on a bed and not looming over her. Still wearing the same typical armour he’s always in in his fancy broadcasts, all fancy Zakuulan leathers and gold stitching, visible even through the dirt and grime. Something about the way the mechanisms at his left shoulder currently have no purpose freaks her out a little and she skittishly moves her gaze up to his face.

Huh. She honestly had thought for a while there that his mask had been hiding something truly hideous. But it’s just scars.

A lot of them, to be sure, clearly the result of the explosion that took his arm. But the markings seem to be healed by now, a combination of delicate and jagged raised pink lines crisscrossing the left side of his face. She can even see the soft markings near his mouth that she had discovered when he kissed her, and that memory makes her draw back with a soft squeak, hands over her mouth to stop herself reaching out to touch his scars.

It’s just curiosity, nothing else. Human nature and all that - like a child in a museum, petulantly touching everything. And stars, does she feel like a misbehaving child in a museum in this quiet corner of some mystical Voss shrine.

Well, quiet except for the explosions. Can’t forget those, can she.

She squeaks again as Arcann suddenly scrunches his brow, and she realises that he’s starting to wake up.

The Voss around her are apparently causing that, because they all start glowing gold or something, and then Arcann does too. And she wishes his visible eye didn’t fly open then, because all she can see is the pale blue amidst the sea of gold and she thinks of Thexan and his desperate hopes, and she almost cries.

And then the moment comes crashing down when Arcann, clearly delirious from the way his eye seems foggy and his movements sluggish, starts to panic. “Mother!”

Even confused and upset, his voice is too soft for her memories to cope, and she does not like the way her chest aches at the sight of him in obvious pain.

She’s too frozen in panic herself to do anything as the gold starts to subside, and the nearest healer speaks in a soft murmur. “He think his mother perished. He can feel too much of her Force presence,” the Voss woman says softly, and Calli suddenly wants to slap her.

“Then tell him she’s fine!” she snarls through gritted teeth, jumping as Arcann groans, his arm flailing and the Force apparently answering his unconscious call by the way the weird-looking relic on the nearby table comes flying through the air and nearly smashes her in the head. “Hey!”

Arcann won’t stop fucking _moving_ , and these Voss are being completely _useless_ and this building is probably going to collapse around them and her sister is going to _die again_ and just, why is everything happening all at once?

He’s going to fall off the bed at this rate. Yelling at a mostly-unconscious man might not be the nicest thing to do but, well, she needs to do _something_. Plus, he won’t remember a thing.

His arm is still moving blindly as he deliriously murmurs for his mother, half rolling onto his side, and she rolls her eyes as she catches his arm. Fuck the Voss and their shitty healing and their shitty bedside manner. “Arcann!” she says, and he jerks around at the sound of her voice, but he doesn’t stop. “Hey, stop that! If my sister has to stop fighting _your_ dumb fucking Exarch just to come in here to tell you to _calm the fuck down_ she’s going to be so mad at you!”

To her surprise he does seem to settle a little at her words, his visible blue eye still all glassy and foggy and clearly not quite focusing. “Mother…” he says weakly, still struggling a little.

She sighs and pushes his other shoulder down firmly but gently, wincing in sympathy as he yelps in pain. “Look you brat, I know it hurts, but you need to calm down okay? I know this whole ‘ _doing what you’re told_ ’ thing is completely new to you, but if you don’t want Theron or Bowie to murder you, you’d better start behaving yourself okay?”

He suddenly frowns, stilling completely. “Calli?” he murmurs, and she shrieks and jumps back, releasing his arm.

There... there’s no way he knows it’s her, no way, he clearly can’t even see. He couldn’t have recognised her just from her voice. But... if he doesn’t know she’s here, why is he talking about her? Has he been mumbling about her like he has about his mother?

Her cheeks flame at the idea, scowling at how ridiculous she’s being, and Arcann clearly starts panicking again, his flailing stronger and his voice anxious. The small objects around the room are also starting to levitate, and the small pot nearby explodes, which she’s pretty sure is Not Good. “Calli!”

He won’t remember this later.

Cursing herself out the entire time she steps closer again, hand on his chest to push him back down. “Hey, hey! Arcann, it’s fine. Stop fussing,” she says quickly, settling on the side of the bed beside him. She can feel him shivering, whether with fever or pain she doesn’t know, but this close to him it makes something in her ache to hold him.

Ridiculous.

He calms down again as soon as she touches him. “Mother,” he mumbles weakly.

She rolls her eyes even as he starts trying to reach out again, ignoring the screech of the nearby table answering his half-conscious call and skidding along the stone. “Look you, stop being so greedy and asking for everyone at once. I’m here, just like you asked. Everyone’s fine, Senya’s just over there. You’re being a menace.”

He’s clearly still trying to reach out to find Senya, and she sighs and this time catches his hand, jumping a little at the warmth. “Arcann, please, calm down. And stop moving things with the Force, you’re frightening me.”

Surprisingly, everything stops moving and she jumps as the lamp on the table stops levitating with a loud thump. “See, isn’t it much better not having to concentrate on all that?” she says quickly, trying not to think about the fact that he seemed to stop for her.

He’s still frowning, his one visible eye sliding closed. He does seem calmer when she’s talking, so... guess she should keep going? But she can still feel the looming spectre of the fucking Voss, and it’s not like she wants them to understand her while she tries to chat to her... person who she is acquainted with, it’s weird enough already without eavesdroppers. Maybe she’s lucky and they don’t know Zakuulan, and she swaps with ease. A language she never really wanted to deal with again, but it rolls off her tongue far too easily as she looks at Arcann.

“Your mum’s fine, just needs to sleep,” she says softly, sliding back into the cadences of the language like it was only yesterday she’d been living in The Spire. “Guess we all know where you really got your recklessness from, honestly. She couldn’t have waited another five bloody minutes for Dia to show up again noooooo, she had to insist it was _now_ , and look what happened.”

She sighs, peering at his face again. “It’s good Dia had time to get all those bits of stuff out of your face before your stupid Exarch showed up to try to kill us all,” she says unhappily, her heart in her throat as she looks at the miserable way his face twitched with pain. “I’d say Cera’d be sorry for hurting you that much, but that’d be a lie. You’re just lucky that’s all she did to you after you hurt us. I’ve never seen her cry before, until the shuttle, you know?

“I think Thexan nearly cried when he found out you survived,” she continues uncertainly, telling herself she’s imagining the way Arcann tenses beneath her hand. He can’t hear her - or, rather, he can’t understand her. He’s just reacting to the sound of her voice, that’s all. She instinctively tangles their fingers together to try to redirect his attention and relax his arm muscles. “You just... you’re just lucky he’s got such good puppy-eyes, alright? Otherwise this wouldn’t be happening. You think we could look him and Ona’la in the face and tell them we knew where you were and didn’t do anything? Hmph. Not happening.

“And stupid bleeding heart Lieca, wants to save the life of the man who literally killed her. Your dad’s a fucking jerk, alright.” She’s going off on a tangent, she knows she’s blathering, but talking calms him down so she’ll keep talking. “But he didn’t shut up in her head after you tried to kill her, so fuck it all, you didn’t do anything except make me cry for weeks. Not that I was crying over you, that would be ridiculous. Crying over my sister nearly dying, because of you.”

She sniffs. Yeah, okay, she’s still not convincing herself. “You’re such a jerk.”

She jumps as the glowing gold starts again, and Arcann groans in pain, instinctively trying to roll away. She squeezes his hand again as his visible eye suddenly opens, still glassy and unfocused. “Hey!”

Another piece of crockery goes flying past, and this time she deflects it with her free hand; she curses in time with Bowdaar’s worried growl from across the room as it breaks the skin. Not enough to do any real damage, but enough to be fucking annoying. “Stop it!”

Bowdaar starts forward, clearly angry, and the Voss healer speaks again. “Please, try to keep him calm. He will disrupt the ritual.”

She glares at her, her hand stinging. “I’m fucking doing more for that than you lot,” she hisses in Basic. And great, now she’s bleeding. Fucking jerk. She switches her glare to Arcann. “You’re being an ass!”

Bowdaar chuckles in agreement, growling soothingly as he steps closer. She pokes Arcann’s good shoulder. “That hurt! Stop it!”

He closes his eyes again and groans in pain, and she clucks her tongue at him even as Bowdaar, apparently reassured that she is okay, moves to check on Senya. “Hey hey, calm down.”

Except he doesn’t. The Voss woman sounds vaguely apologetic. “He needs to stay still, he should not have woken now. He must stop fighting us.”

What the fuck else is she supposed to do except entirely pin him down? Her cheeks flush at the thought, discarded immediately, and she scowls. What would Lieca do? She’s so much better at this, naturally far more comforting than she is. Stars, why not Ona’la? She’s seen her comfort Thexan on his bad days, while she looks away and distracts the kids and pretends not to notice.

There’s a fine sheen of sweat on Arcann’s brow, and he’s still clearly restless and anxious and she doesn’t know what to do.

She swallows, and slowly moves her injured hand up towards his face, squeezing his hand again. She lightly brushes her hand over the scars, keeping her fingers constantly moving to try to relax him and keep him from feeling trapped as she switches back to Zakuulan. “Arcann. Please, calm down. The Voss are just trying to help. You’ve got to try to stay still. Please, Arcann. For me?”

She curses herself as soon as she says it. For her? As if he would do anything for her. He doesn't care about her. Not that she cares about him either - it just feels unnecessarily cruel to ignore him and leave him here on this bed, alone and hurt and scared. Lieca’s bleeding heart must be contagious.

His visible eye stays closed but he seems to settle as she gently strokes his head and murmurs to him and when the next wave of gold flares over his skin he doesn't react. The closest Voss healer speaks again, starting to sound tired. “Thank you for your aid,” she says softly. “It will be easier now, he has stopped trying to block us out.”

“Huh?”

Bowdaar mutters something about her being his new focus and if her hands weren't busy she’d hit him. “Hey!” she snaps, cheeks flaming.

Bowdaar guffaws and moves over to squeeze her shoulder, which she happily leans into. “Yeah yeah, love you too,” she responds grumpily. “And stop judging me.”

Another explosion hits the temple, feeling quieter and further away than the others, but it still makes her heart jump into her throat. They should have heard from Lieca and the others by now, surely. They have to be alright. Between Lieca and Dia they should be… but she still worries.

What if it's not okay? What if something horrible happened and she doesn't even know because she's here, not there. What if Lieca’s hurt? She's pretty sure she's never envied the twins’ bond as much as she does right now. The lack of answers is making her anxious.

Under her hands, Arcann stirs again, growling in pain and sluggishly trying to move.

She frowns and the Voss speaks again. “He is reacting to your distress. Calm yourself.”

Calli sputters, glaring at her. “You calm yourself! Sorry I don't particularly want to die because of a royal brat and his stupid decisions!”

The Voss says nothing, looking back down at the ground as she meditates. Calli huffs just as Arcann moans in pain, and she sticks her tongue out at the Voss before turning her attention back to him, trying to calm her racing heart.

“It’s okay, Arcann, everything's fine. I’m just scared for my sister. Not that you care about her of course. But I do, and I’m worried. And you need to stay still for the healers and let them work okay? Please.”

He eventually settles again, and she keeps lightly stroking his head even as the waves of gold wash over his skin. But he no longer stirs other than a soft pained sound now and then.

She’s not quite sure how much time passes before the gold stops, and even she can tell Arcann’s breathing is steadier as she looks around the room. Two of the healers have collapsed, and the closest one looks dangerously close to it as she turns her vivid blue jewel eyes on Calli. “We have done what we can. He needs rest. Your outsider healer - she offered surgeries. Voss cannot heal his ear, his eye.”

She looks to Senya, who still looks far too pale on the bed nearby. “His family thanks you,” she says quietly.

The Voss woman nods. “You are welcome.”

She blinks. “What? Me? No, I said his _family_ and-”

She’s interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door, and just about jumps out of her skin as Bowdaar turns to the door with a low growl.

The door is pushed open a moment later to reveal Lieca and the others, and she immediately releases Arcann to run over to them. “Lieca!”

Her sister catches her happily enough, hugging her fiercely before moving back to cup her face. “Calli! Are you alright?”

She chokes out a laugh that’s only half-concealing a sob. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Lieca smiles sweetly. “I’m fine hun,” she says quickly. “Tal and Theron are a little battered, but otherwise we are all fine.”

She looks over Lieca’s shoulder at the others - Theron is pressing a kolto pack against his implant, still looking a little stunned (from a cursory glance she would guess he overloaded it somehow) and Tal is apparently studiously ignoring Dia treating the burns on his left arm and lek.

Dia then releases Tal with a sigh, her pink skin still shimmering with the unnatural purple her healing tends to project. “Now, what have you done to my patients?”

She doesn’t exactly wait for a response, stalking past them all to head to Arcann’s bedside, and Calli glares at her. “I didn’t do anything!”

The Voss healer raises her head as Dia approaches, still sounding exhausted. “She calmed him, kept him focused on her. He stopped trying to interfere with our healing, made it easier. She did well.”

She bristles instantly at the insinuation; out of the corner of her eye, she can see the others swing around in her direction, with Lieca looking suddenly intrigued, Theron suddenly ill, and Tal vaguely interested. “Look, _someone_ had to stop him rolling off the stupid bed and calling out for his mother, because you people apparently couldn’t just tell him she was fine!” she says hotly. “You certainly weren’t going to!”

The healer shakes her head. “We tried, he would not listen. He does not trust us.”

She freezes. He doesn’t trust her, he hates her. Or doesn’t care about her at all, writing her off as soon as he got what he wanted. She’s not sure which option she prefers.

Dia apparently decides to ignore them all, stepping closer to take Arcann’s vitals. Theron sighs, wincing as Lieca moves closer to press the kolto patch against his implant when his own grip slacks. “So….. what now?” he drawls, momentarily distracted by Lieca kissing his cheek.

Bowdaar growls something not quite complimentary, and Theron sniggers even as Lieca frowns and releases him to move over to Senya’s side. “Dia’ayla, what do you think?” she asks hesitantly.

Dia doesn’t look up from checking over Arcann, frowning as she looks like she’s plucking the strings of some sort of instrument over his chest. “I need time,” she says bluntly. “Without his mask, he will need proper implants to correct the damage to his eye and ear. I will make a new mask as well for the days when he will need additional support. But you can tell simply from the way the scars have healed that he has been relying on the mask less often, particularly lately. I imagine he would prefer the option to choose for himself.”

Calli frowns. “What?”

Dia still doesn’t look up. “When the entire galaxy recognises your face purely from the mask you wear, you would want to stop wearing that mask too if you have any intentions to stop being that person,” she says bluntly. “Unpleasant memories and all that. Especially when it’s restricting the healing process, the damned fool.”

Well it’s not entirely unpleasant memories that the thought of him maskless prompts, but luckily her tongue trips over itself before she can speak and Dia finally looks up at Lieca, eyes narrowed. “Anything to add, Barsen’thor?”

Lieca shakes her head, a flicker of white near her hands, and it’s enough to make Dia’s brow rise. “No, I think that’s an accurate assessment,” her sister says quickly, eyes dropping away nervously. Huh. Normally Lieca will lunge in to heal someone regardless of their situation or the risk to herself - the hesitance makes Calli frown. “Do you have space for Senya as well, or should we keep her with us?”

The Voss healer speaks up first, her head half-fallen onto her chest, clearly from exhaustion. “The mother’s recovery will only require time and comfort. She needs to recover her strength.”

Dia clucks her tongue. “I do not have space for Senya as well,” she answers eventually. “I imagine she will wake before her idiot son, and I will not allow her to remain underfoot. Take her with you.”

Lieca looks suddenly apprehensive and Dia chuckles. “You’ll have to tell them eventually, Lieca. I’m sure your honeyed diplomatic words will help you to explain back home.”

Lieca gives her a flat look in reply, which only seems to increase her amusement, and Tal’nerra sighs. “Well if I’m pretending I don’t know about this, I’ll go now,” he says dryly. “Dia’ayla, a pleasure, as always.”

Calli hides a laugh at Dia’s expressionless glare after the other twi’lek, and Theron eventually realises both Lieca and Dia have turned to him. “Oh! Um, me too, I guess. Um... I’m going to go contact Rokuss about the Star Fortress,” he says hastily, kissing Lieca’s cheek. “You, uh, you girls have fun. With whatever it is you’re doing. That I definitely don’t know about.”

He quickly turns to leave as well, and Calli raises an eyebrow at her sister. “Are we sure he’s a spy?”

_“I heard that!”_

She ignores him and Lieca starts rubbing the bridge of her nose as he closes the door behind him. “Theron is perfectly good at his job Calli,” she says in gentle reprimand. “And he is not entirely comfortable with my choice. I can still feel Cera’s disapproval too.”

She then sighs, not lowering her hand. “Is it the right choice? Or am I letting my own feelings get in the way of what’s right?” she says, before her voice drops to a whisper. “Is this just to spite Valkorion, to save the son he thinks isn’t worth it?”

Calli’s blood runs a little cold, and she moves to stand in front of her sister. “Senya thinks he’s worth it,” she answers quickly. “Thexan thinks he’s worth it. Plus I don’t think you’ve done anything to spite anyone in your life, goody-two-shoes.”

Lieca half-laughs, half-sobs. “Senya has not seen her son in person for decades, and Thexan is clinging to the brother he remembers instead of the broken stranger he has,” she says, apparently ignoring her last comment, before cutting herself off in her frustration. “I- I _want_ to believe he can change, that he can be better. But do I really have the right to demand everyone _else_ accept that?”

Dia’ayla sighs, visibly annoyed. “Please have your moral crisis later, Jedi,” she says tiredly. “I do not agree with many of Senya’s choices that led to this point - in particular, leaving me on Port Nowhere, thank you very much - but I will also not stand aside and let your people decide what to do with someone in need of clear medical attention. Now, help me move him onto this gurney.”

Calli finally notices the floating stretcher that has been hovering behind their party, and follows her equally uncertain sister over to Arcann’s bedside. Dia sighs again, gesturing for them to stand back. “Oh, never mind,” the twi’lek says grumpily, lifting her hands to call the Force to move Arcann in place.

Both sisters jump in startled reaction to help, and Calli tells herself it’s pure coincidence she ends up cradling his head as he’s lowered onto the stretcher. Neither of the healers draws attention to it, and she finds herself smoothing her hand over his scars again as she moves away, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

Dia nods, seeming pleased. “Very well. My team has moved my shuttle to the landing bay at the back of the temple,” she says succinctly. “We will go now. Unless you have further objections?”

Lieca shakes her head. “We’ll... we’ll deal with that when the time comes, I suppose,” she answers hesitantly.

Calli shrugs. “Assuming you survive telling Lana,” she says in a sing-song voice to draw attention away from her fussing, and Lieca glares at her.

“Very funny.”

Dia rolls her eyes. “Go reassure your fiance, and I'll tell you when everything is done,” she says shortly.

Lieca smiles and nods. “May the Force be with you.”

Dia’s flat expression makes Calli nervously giggle, and even Lieca looks a little unsettled. “Goodbye,” Dia answers gruffly, all but sweeping herself and the stretcher towards the exit. “You deal with the Voss.”

Lieca shakes her head in amusement and turns to the Voss healers, clearly about to enquire about their health as she wanders to Senya’s bedside. But Calli can’t quite take her eyes off Dia and the unconscious Arcann, her heart still a little in her throat.

It’s when they’ve almost reached the door that she finally makes a decision, and she runs over to them. “Wait!” she yells, cheeks flaming as she feels Dia’s piercing eyes on her. She doesn’t care. 

Arcann is still unconscious, which is good, so he won’t remember what she is about to do. Calli bites her lip as she comes to a stop by the floating gurney, her hand moving to his cheek.

“Don’t die, okay, asshole?” she whispers, leaning down quickly to press a kiss to his forehead. 

He doesn’t answer, and that is just fine with her. The last thing she wants is for him to remember her moment of sheer idiocy. 

She steps back to see Dia studiously looking away, but the twi’lek says nothing. “Goodbye, Calli,” she says shortly, turning on her heel and heading up into her ship, the gurney following along behind her. 

It’s only as the door closes and she waves goodbye that she realises that her hand isn’t bleeding anymore. But she doesn’t remember either Dia’ayla or Lieca healing it.


	27. Calm

Calli doesn't really remember much of the destruction of the Star Fortress, as everything had been basically a whirl of activity and adrenalin, and she’d been so desperately trying to stay in the moment so that her thoughts couldn’t stray back to a certain ex-emperor. She didn’t know whether Lieca had been trying to deliberately keep her out of the thick of the action or not, but she wasn’t really up for arguing, and really- the less people trying to kill her, the better. Everyone else was heavily involved with the various strike teams throughout the fortress (many of them gleefully jubilant Mandalorians), but Calli stayed back in the liberated hanger bay at first. She was protected by Voss commandos and Bowdaar as she worked to hack the station's defences and direct Hylo’s team of offworld slicers to help her interfere with skytrooper protocols.

Well, one of the paladins had gotten a little too close for comfort, but he had been intercepted by Tal’nerra just as he’d reached the room where she was hiding. The twi’lek Jedi had cut him down from behind as he’d stood in the doorway, and he’d grinned and saluted to Calli and her Voss protectors before turning and heading back into the fray. The outer defences of the station were kept busy by the Gravestone - and then aided by, of all things, the First Fleet of the _Sith Empire_ showing up.

Ugh, couldn’t it have been the Ascendancy or something? The Tion Hegemony? The goddamn _Hutts_? Why the _Sith_?

She’s fairly certain that Lieca had shared her opinion, as much as her sister’s diplomatic heart would never reveal it. But the Sith are still technically allies of the Voss, so it makes sense that they would come to their aid. Theron had muttered something about opportunistic backstabbers and honestly, she completely agreed with him even as Lieca turned to scold him. She might like individual Sith perfectly well, but the Sith as a whole are kinda terrifying.

Well, Dia isn’t _technically_ a Sith anymore, and she’s probably the most terrifying. But that’s not the point.

Upon their return to Voss-Ka, they were quickly ushered into the finest tea house to be greeted by a clearly jubilant (well, as openly happy as the reserved Voss can be) Gaden-Ko, who had arranged a celebratory meal for them that evening. And apparently there were ambassadors from the Sith Empire to deal with tomorrow? Oh joy.

Skyrii and Torian had been bloody smart, sneaking off before the diplomats could swoop in. All the Mandalorians had scattered as soon as the invitation arrived, but their mismatched fleet remained in orbit in case the Eternal Fleet turned up to avenge the station and the death of the Exarch. She’d much rather be scamming Mandalorians at cards than dealing with stuffy Voss or goddamn Sith any longer.

Lieca seemed rather pleased at the invitation to dinner, but after a half-hour of her yawning throughout tea, Theron had eventually carried her off for a quick nap. Well, from the gleam in his eyes it might be otherwise, but for her own sanity she ignores that. Plus, from previous experience, they are probably just going to literally snuggle, the weirdoes that they are. Sickening sweethearts and all that. She can’t imagine anything more annoying.

Tal seems vaguely apologetic as they leave, Lieca’s arms loosely wrapped around Theron’s neck. “There was a lot of healing required on the station, I imagine your sister is quite exhausted,” he says gently. “She certainly hasn’t healed on that scale since before... before.”

She would like to go through one day without worrying for her sister and her recklessness, just one day. At least she’s not alone there, Theron’s anxious hovering was a clear indicator of his own fears. But she just needs a distraction.

And since her usual favoured version of distraction is probably not the best idea in the middle of Voss-Ka (she got into enough trouble last time, as good as it was, thank you very much), she instead pulls a pack of cards out of her jacket pocket, and challenges Tal’nerra.

He seems rather intrigued at the invitation, and her first indication that she might have erred somewhat is the decidedly professional way he deals the cards. But it’s one of the few games she knows where Jedi powers can’t interfere with the stakes, and Bowdaar can read her too damn well for them to get anywhere if she chose him as her opponent instead.

As the afternoon winds down, the sunbeams across the cards are a multitude of colours through the stained glass windows, and the rules get progressively more ridiculous. She decides she likes Tal’nerra quite a lot - he actually reminds her a fair bit of Geralt, but more reserved and significantly more moral. The sly grin when he flips his latest pair confirms it, and she realises she’s laughing and actually enjoying herself.

The fact that her own pair beats his is just the icing on the cake, and he swears loud enough that Bowdaar guffaws. She sits back on her cushion, all smug, and Tal sighs and moves to his feet to perform the required handstand.

And then, just to rub it in, the bastard makes it a one-handed handstand, far more controlled and graceful than she could ever manage, and she sticks her tongue out at him as he grins at her, still upside-down.

Hey, is he using the Force to do that?

The tinkling of the beaded curtains over the door alerts them to the fact that the others have returned, and Theron raises an eyebrow at the upside-down twi’lek. “Did I miss something?” he asks dryly, holding the curtains aside to see Lieca step through them as well.

Tal moves back to his feet far smoother and quicker than she hoped, his lekku almost bouncing with the movement. “Just proving a point, Theron,” he says with a quick grin, winking at Lieca.

Lieca looks a little confused, but still smiles genuinely at them all before wrapping her arm around Theron’s and smiling at him sweetly. “Well, are you all nearly ready to go then? Gaden-Ko is expecting us for dinner, and we shouldn’t be late.”

Calli scowls and picks at the collar of her jacket. She’s pretty sure that’s Lieca-code for ‘ _bring out the formalwear_ ’ and her only consolation is that she remembers both Koth and Raj have been conned into it as well. “Yes, I’ll go get changed now,” she says crossly. “Bowie, don’t laugh at me.”

Yay. Formal dinners. Nothing could _possibly_ go wrong here.

Ugh.

 

* * *

 

Seriously, if anyone had told Vaylin exactly how much extra paperwork she had to go through as Empress, she might not have taken the stupid throne after all. Proposals! Recommendations! Budgets! Cash flows! Statements! Treaties! Ugh!

Well, of course she knew about it beforehand. It’s not like she was just twiddling her thumbs for the years that the stupid not-brother traitor was in charge. But he seemed to delegate a lot of the things he didn’t like. Big surprise there.

But she will not be so easily fooled, oh no. She needs to be in charge, to stop people going behind her back and betraying her again. She needs to be in control. She does it all herself.

So it takes a few days before she finds out what happened to the Star Fortress on Voss, and her scream of outrage is enough to crack the screen of the datapad she’s using.

Her staff scatter like insignificant bugs at the sound, and the one who tried to run out of the room is carelessly thrown against the wall. She will not tolerate disobedience! They were to stay put!

The nearest woman moves hesitantly closer, her pretty face pinched with nerves. “My Empress?” she says quickly, her usual breathy voice tinged with desperation. “What concerns you?”

Vaylin snarls, and the woman admirably hides her flinch. “Find me all of our reports about the planet Voss,” she snaps. “I need to know what happened, _now_.”

“My lady-”

“ _Now_!”

The staff scatter again, but this time they eventually bring her the reports she asked for. She does not bother to address them until she’s finished reading, her temper spiking with each word. The Exarch lured down to the planet and soundly defeated, the Star Fortress destroyed by a combination of Mandalorian and Imperial ships and… the Gravestone?

She hurls the datapad away. “The Alliance!” she shrieks, and her steward ducks. “The Alliance was there! Where is SCORPIO!”

“My lady, the droid is in the Old World sector and-”

“Bring her back, _now_!”

The woman bows immediately, all but running from the room.

Father would be so furious if he could see her actually allowed to indulge her temper, her feelings. She almost crows in triumph at how she can actually _feel_ how angry she is, but the Throne itself presses back and she flinches instead.

Rage flickers over her skin, manifesting as golden lightning. She’s getting a little sick and tired of this uppity Throne trying to tell her what to do. She is Empress! Ruler of the galaxy! Father can take his stupid _rules_ and _restraints_ and space himself!

The Throne sparks against her and she smashes her fist against the armrest. It’s just a chair, it just controls the Fleet. It has no right to act against her!

If the traitor was here, he’d say it was just coincidence, that the Throne isn’t really against her too. But he’s not here, is he? He _left_. He left just like everyone else. She doesn’t have anyone - so if she wants to get mad at a stupid chair, she will!

It feels far too much like Father, and she’s suddenly so terrified she can’t breathe, and around her the world just _stops_.

Last time she felt like this, she could _see_ Father in the throne room. Talking to that dumb Outlander lady, letting her into their home like she belonged there. This woman, blue eyes all beseeching and expression soft, turning her back on their father as soon as she realised Vaylin was watching, begging her for a rescue, an escape.

Ha! Vaylin was no fool! That was just another of Father’s tricks, a vision in the throne room. She had obviously not eaten enough that day, bringing on the hallucinations of her teenage years.

Her stomach rolls at the thought. Ugh.

The Jedi woman had been all sweet words and gentle presence - “ _The Force guides us both, Vaylin._ ” - Ha! She has no use for the Force healing of some Jedi that was foolish enough to fall into one of Father’s traps. She wasn’t even really there!

If she was real, she wouldn’t have tried to help. Nobody tries to help. She doesn’t have anyone who wants to look after her. Not that she needs their help, anyway! She is strong enough alone!

Always alone.

 _Focus_ , Vaylin. The Voss. The Alliance. SCORPIO. Deal with the problems. Get away from the Throne.

The last thought makes her pause. Is the Throne itself a threat?

_It feels like Father._

Her stomach rolls again and she blanches, immediately standing up. Her staff pause. “Empress?”

She scowls. “Find SCORPIO and bring her here, now!” she repeats. Everything is screaming at her to run, run, _run_. “Everyone, _out_!”

The Voss have defied her. The Alliance defied her. This cannot stand, she _must_ act and-

“Empress, the shipment from the Queen of Dubrillion is here, and is personally addressed to you.”

Her temper pauses at that declaration, the male servant who had brought the news pale and wide-eyed but otherwise completely steady on his feet. “Is that so?” she asks haughtily, feeling her temper deflate a little.

He nods, a little colour returning to his cheeks. “Yes, my lady. It included a personal note to you, which we of course did not read. Would you like it brought to you here or to your quarters?”

Her heart thumps in her chest. They just want to steal her treats. “My quarters, immediately,” she says quickly, her anger at the Voss making her cheeks heat up.

She will worry about this later. Give herself time to think, to settle. She will not be impulsive, like the traitor.

It will be another two days before she finds out that Senya and Arcann were also on Voss.

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks pass fairly uneventfully for the Alliance, all things considered. They made their way back to Odessen, arriving a few days after the team assigned to the Nar Shaddaa fortress. Lieca was pleased as punch about her work with Gaden-Ko to secure further alliances with the Voss other than Sana-Rae and her people, and everyone else was basically just happy to be home.

Well, there was a _slight_ hiccup when Lana and the others realised they had brought Senya home with them... and that Arcann had been on Voss too, but had mysteriously ‘ _escaped_ ’.

Lieca had apparently been practicing her story on Koth, spending the journey back from Voss trying to calm him and minimise his reaction to the news; it must have been time well spent, because she quickly smoothed it over with Lana in a way that still makes Calli’s head spin to think about. She’s still not even entirely sure how it didn’t end in a shouting match? Lieca was very good at half truths and not-quite-lies (she called it diplomacy, but Calli wasn’t fooled) when she wanted to be. She even managed to make it sound like a complete coincidence that they’d been there at the same time, and avoided any mention of Dia’ayla being on hand at all.

After checking on Senya, Thexan announced his decision to have a bit of a break for awhile - considering how stressed he looked, it was no wonder the others had readily agreed. So he and his little family had gone off to go back to their family home on Rishi for awhile, and to visit a few other places along the way. Some weird Jedi business or errand, probably, from the way Lieca had cornered him and Ona’la before they left.

It’s about two weeks after Voss that Calli finds herself magnificently bored one morning. Bowdaar has taken a short trip back to Zakuul, Geralt and his family are back on Port Nowhere for awhile with Risha still essentially bribing Vaylin to keep her focus off Dubrillion, and even Vitalia and Jonas chose to stay home after the Nar Shaddaa fortress was destroyed. With no particularly close friends remaining behind, she’s bored and listless, and spending most of her mornings sleeping late. Her nieces are a good distraction, but also very tiring. Let Tal’nerra and Satele and the other Jedi keep them busy, at least they can use the Force to wrangle them. Much easier for them to persuade Cera’s twin terrors down from the rafters when the Force can bring them down. She could do with a few less distractions like that.

Well, distractions are helpful in trying not to think about Arcann - and she’s failing spectacularly in her efforts to keep her mind off of him. Dia’ayla would have to be an idiot not to suspect _something_ \- not that there’s anything there, of course - and she is anything but an idiot, so she’s been avoiding asking her for news. She’s been avoiding her altogether. Not that she’s thinking about her, or wanting to call her to ask how things are going, why would she need to know how things are going? It’s not like she cares, she doesn’t care, certainly not about Arcann and how much pain he was in last time she saw him and how sometimes she lies awake at night wondering if he’s awake and thinking about her and if he’s in pain or if he’s okay... but they haven’t heard anything _bad_ , so she guesses it’s all fine? No news is good news and all that. Lieca with her weird Force bond thing probably knows, or at least can sense something, maybe she can tell when he’s in pain again and _stars-fucking-damn-it_. At this point, she’d rather cut off all her limbs than ask. Lieca keeps giving her enough _sad eyes_ as it is.

She’s fine. Everything’s fine.

But also _boring_.

Well, maybe she can try to teach her nieces how to play cards again? Might as well, she’s got nothing else to do right now. And at least their parents will be around to help or intervene when they get too rowdy. Everyone seems to be taking a break while Vaylin sorts herself out on the throne, like they’re all nervously waiting for the other shoe to drop. Lieca seems to be taking it in stride and enjoying the workload from the more constant stream of offers of aid and formal alliance - but diplomats are very weird.

Plus, if she volunteers to look after the girls, then Lieca and Cera can’t try to trap her into helping them with all these weird diplomatic deal things and try to con her into being charming and polite and some shit. Hope springs eternal and whatnot. And maybe it’d be better to grab some Jedi type person to help her too, in case the kids start getting up to their weird Force mischief again.

With a vague plan in mind for the day, she ambles around her room getting dressed before heading out in search of some caf and food. It’s with no small delight that she realises that Flissa is back too - she’ll never admit to playing favourites, but Flissa is absolutely her favourite niece, something in her yearning towards the little girl whose own situation had mirrored her own for so long, absently loved and adored by everyone and yet anchorless and feeling out of place without the stability of her parents. That lost little girl is thriving now, not just with the return of Lieca but also of Felix, since Balmorra has been liberated from the cruel oversight of the Star Fortress; when she spots Felix and Tallina in the mess hall having a late breakfast of their own, one tiny togruta child on the bench between them, it brings a smile to her face to see Flissa animatedly racing back and forth between their table and the food serving areas, returning each time with more liberated snacks like she’s found the greatest treasure in the galaxy.

Fuck, she’s being so dumb - look at how happy her beautiful little niece is, having her mum and her dad back, and here she is mooning stupidly after the asshole who split them all up in the first place?

Ugh.

Her mood sour, she ducks her head and shuffles to the edge of the room so that Flissa won’t see her; luckily, no one in the little family spots her before she finds a free seat near Hylo and her slicers. She feels guilty about avoiding her almost-brother-in-law and his actual wife, because they’re both lovely people and Flissa is clearly over the moon having both her dad back and getting to spend time with her little sister, but she’s only human. Much easier to dodge her guilt and instead get into pointless arguments with the smug brats Hylo employs.

Destroying someone’s snobbish critique of a dumb pop album with a handful of cereal as her victory prize has never been quite so satisfying, and for a little while she gets to distract herself for real and get her head and her heart out of the quagmire of guilt and grief and longing and loathing it’s been stuck in these past few weeks. She’s still grinning to herself as she leaves the hall, absently fiddling with her dataspike in one hand as she leans against the wall at the next holo outlet. “Hey, Hols,” she says, flicking at the base of the projector, “any idea where the family is?”

Holiday doesn’t physically appear, but the projector lights up to indicate her presence. “I’m certain I don’t know who you could mean, _Cals_ ,” she says primly.

She sighs, grinning despite herself. “Oh, Miss Holiday, most radiant and divine-”

“Lieca and Cera are currently on duty in the nursery, and are accompanied by Flissa, Nicola, Rianna and Doctor Kimble.”

Calli makes a loud smooching noise. “Love you Holiday,” she drawls, heading off in the direction of the nursery. She walks into the room to find Lieca and Cera sitting on the ground across from each other, both deep in meditation, both definitely playing the part of ‘ _serene unearthly Jedi_ ’ quite well as they sit as mirror images of each other. It’s still a little eerie, even though their years apart have marked them both in different ways - they might not look exactly identical anymore, but the mannerisms are still there.

The serenity of the scene is spoiled somewhat by their kids, though. Flissa, who had apparently absconded from the mess hall while she was arguing with Hylo’s team about the merits of the voting system for the Galactic Academy of Holo Arts Award (because there’s no way that Resurgence should have lost Best Picture), is rather comfortably seated in Lieca’s lap, mimicking her pose and apparently meditating as well. It’s freaking adorable, actually. Cera, on the other hand, is currently being a jungle gym for both of her daughters, with Nicola wrapped around her from the left while Rianna is wrapped around her from the right. Her sister doesn’t even flinch at the wild scrambling as they chase one another over her lap and around her shoulders.

Flissa squints one eye open as she hears Calli’s footsteps, grinning broadly and waving in greeting but quickly going back to her own very serious and very authentic meditation. The twins, on the other hand, both gasp theatrically and let go of their mother to tackle Calli to the ground; she complies with the desired level of outrage, feigning a catastrophic fall backwards with a loud bellow, much to the twins delighted shrieks.

“Girls! Gentle!”

She levers herself up onto one elbow, hair askew, and looks over to see Doc on the other side of the room, swivelling in his chair towards them. He looks like he’s been the object of their attentions all morning, from his dishevelled state, and Calli pokes her tongue out at him. He doesn’t relent, however, and the girls’ shoulders slump.

Nicola sulks. “Yes Daddy,” she calls grumpily, moving enough to allow Calli to sit up properly. Rianna moves faster and tilts her head to the side as she squints at her father.

She realises two things in quick succession - one, that Cera’s girls are clearly little thieves because that’s _her_ dataspike, and two, that it’s currently heading through the air towards her brother-in-law. Unfortunately, before it connects with his fat head, it suddenly stops in mid air, and Rianna guiltily shrinks back.

Calli looks back at her sisters to see one of Cera’s eyes open and on the twins, her expression clearly unimpressed, and she decides a fast distraction is in order. “Hey girls!” she says quickly. “Why don’t we go over here, away from Mummy and Daddy, and you can show me who can build something cool the fastest?”

The twins shriek in pleasure at the challenge and tumble over to their building blocks, each girl immediately zeroing in on their labelled buckets. Calli sits back and makes suitably impressed noises as they go, calmly intervening when they start trying to use the Force to sabotage each other.

Sheesh, it’s no wonder they’ve been kept home from lessons today, they’re probably a nightmare to teach anything to. At least Satele has that steely blue glare, she can probably keep them under control. Lucky her. It must certainly be easier for her than for Ona’la - the usual Jedi crechemaster is far too sweet to handle their nonsense. Ona’la must be glad to be away for awhile. Hey, maybe she has a message from the Tiralls - she should check.

Doc wanders over to sit between the girls and fuss over them, reassuring and sabotaging them both equally, and she decides to take a moment to check her mail when the twins turn to attack their father by tackling him to the ground.

There’s only a short message, and she can almost _feel_ how awkward Thexan is at writing it - very perfunctory sentences, all facts rather than opinions. Apparently they checked into Tython for awhile and helped out the Jedi Temple for a few days - and he practically had to drag Ona’la away when they had to go, apparently off to Voss?

Come to think of it, the family has travelled a lot since they left Odessen, not staying anywhere for more than a few days at a time. That’s a bit strange.

She’s distracted however when Lieca makes a sudden noise, and Flissa looks concerned as her mother reaches up with a wince to rub her left shoulder. Calli’s heart absolutely does not beat faster at the sight, and Lieca quickly smiles down at her daughter, reaching up to tuck an errant brown curl behind Flissa’s ear. “Not to worry darling, just a twinge,” she says softly.

From Cera’s expression that’s not all it is, and it’s on the tip of her tongue to blurt out the question. Only the presence of her nieces and Doc keeps her silent.

Flissa suddenly catches Lieca’s hand, the glittering ring apparently drawing her eye. “Mama,” she starts imploringly, and both twins turn their attention to her as Doc continues being assaulted by his daughters. “When are you going to marry Theron?”

Lieca laughs, expression a little awkward, and cuddles Flissa close. “Why does it need to be now darling?” she asks teasingly. “Not everyone gets married immediately like your aunt and uncle!”

Cera groans. “Liss, you said you’d stop holding that over me,” she says pleadingly, just as her husband yelps, apparently not as distracted by his daughters as they all thought.

“Hey hey, I had to marry her before she changed her mind!”

“How romantic,” Lieca answers dryly.

Cera glares at her. “Oh, come on! I invited you all to the next wedding!”

Calli takes a moment to fondly recall that event - any awkwardness at the event involving Jedi had quickly been countered by the open bar. Yeah, Geralt had taken full advantage of that - and she’s pretty sure that may have even been Cera’s goal judging from the gleam in her eyes.

Flissa looks perplexed. “You had two weddings Aunty?”

Cera shakes her head. “Well, no. We had one wedding, and one fabulous party later. Our wedding was just us, and the party was for everyone. It was more fun that way.”

Lieca nods. “It was fun to celebrate later. But it was important that they got to have the wedding part themselves too darling.”

Flissa frowns. “By yourselves? Who married you then?”

Doc speaks up then, sounding far too proud of himself. “CGR-80.”

Flissa wrinkles her nose. “A droid? A droid we don’t even know? That sounds terrible.”

Doc looks a little offended and Lieca giggles. “Fliss, be nice,” she chides.

Flissa wriggles around in Lieca’s lap to look her mother in the eye. “But Mama! It would be better to have someone you know do it!” she says, before gasping. “Oh I know! You could ask Uncle Geralt! Aunty Risha says ship captains can marry people if they need to!”

Cera switches to Zakuulan to respond, expression sly. “Maybe not the best idea to get married by someone who’s bent your husband over a table, though.”

Lieca flushes bright red near instantly, glaring daggers at her twin. “Cera!” she squeaks, and Calli just about falls over laughing, even as Flissa looks confused.

“What did you say?” she asks, brow furrowed.

“Nothing, sweetie,” Cera says instantly, even though her eyes flash wickedly.

She pouts at being excluded. “Okaaaaaaay. What about Mister Koth or Mister Raj?” Flissa continues, undeterred by the strange reactions of her aunts.

Lieca is still bright red, and shakes her head. “There’s no rush sweetheart, we’ll be fine,” she says, apparently choosing to ignore her sisters. “Theron and I will talk about it when we’re ready.”

“But muuuuuuuuuum you’re taking _forever_ ,” Flissa whines. Lieca sighs and cuddles her daughter close before gently trying to dissuade her further.

Calli finally manages to get her giggling under control and locks eyes with Cera, who merely grins. “Table.”

And she’s laughing again before she knows it, the mini twins jumping up and down around her and demanding to know what’s so funny.

 

* * *

 

Theron sighs and looks up from his spot lounging across their bed to watch Lieca still rummaging around in their drawers, still attempting to pack for when they head to Sarkhai in the morning to see her old Padawan, Nadia.

Well, that was the reason _he’d_ suggested the visit. Cera apparently took it as an invitation to ask if Lieca would also meet with the King and Queen again to discuss an alliance while they were there, and _Force_ it just makes him feel like three inches tall to remember that his fiance is literally friends with royalty. His only experiences with royalty are distinctly less positive, _definitely_ not so long term, and the main reason Operation White Cobra is still so deeply classified.

Shame, that. Onderon was pretty nice.

He frowns at her, rolling to one side to move his datapad onto the bedside table. “Lieca? Come on, stop fussing. We’ve got enough packed.”

She looks over her shoulder to glare at him, still moving things in and out of her bag. “I know, but what if I forget something? I keep thinking I’ve forgotten the truffles for Nadia and then I go to look and-”

He shakes his head in amusement and rolls to his feet, moving over to catch her shoulder and spin her around. “Lieca, you’re stressing yourself out,” he hums, trying to calm her down. “Come on, rest for a moment.”

She huffs, blowing a lock of hair off her bare forehead and moves her arms around his waist. “But-”

He hums again, kissing her forehead. “Lieca. You’re always telling me to calm down - can’t say I’m surprised you won’t do so yourself.”

His sly tone earns a bright blue glare, but she also melts against him quickly enough. “I just worry,” she mumbles against his neck.

“Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t be you otherwise.”

She stays still for a few moments longer, his first sign that something’s up, but he’s finally learned by now not to question it and just let her gather her courage. “I’m worried about Flissa,” she says at last.

He blanks. “Huh? Why?”

She huffs a laugh. “It’s just... she’s been back for such a short time. I know she’s perfectly fine with her father, but I feel awful leaving again.”

He sighs and starts to pull her over to the long couch in the room. “She knows you’re not leaving because of her,” he says heavily, wincing as he realises his tone is a little too loaded for this conversation, deliberately trying to think of something lighter than his personal history as they sit down. “Besides, she’s happy enough with Felix. Can’t say I see the appeal in the guy, but, you know, if I did that’d be pretty weird and-”

“ _Theron_.”

“-right, sorry. No machinations on your ex, I swear.”

She almost scoffs, except she’s probably never done that in her life, and it’s just a soft giggle as she snuggles under his arm. “I don’t think you’re his type.”

He frowns. “What, because I’m not some ridiculously attractive and sweet female Jedi? Actually, come to think of it, he definitely has a type. That’s a little creepy.”

She laughs again, the part of her cheek he can see a little pink. “It’s only two women darling, not exactly a huge sample size,” she scolds gently. “And I suppose we can’t all be as varied in our tastes as you.”

He groans, tilting his head back against the back of the couch, and she keeps giggling as she burrows further into his side. She knows way too many of the stories from before they were dating - and he can only blame Jonas for revealing a few of them. The rest were all him, but even before they were together, her eyes were totally capable of getting him to agree to almost anything and he also would have told her nearly anything to keep her laughing. He regrets it a little more now since they are, you know, actually engaged, but hey at least she’s amused right?

He eventually stops his dramatics when her giggling calms down and he instead starts playing with her hair - only a little smug at how clearly she relaxes at the movement.

“Theron?”

“Mmm?”

She pauses again. Second sign something’s up. “Can I... talk to you about something?” she says hesitantly.

Well, that’s ominous. “I dunno, pretty sure you _can_ ,” he says flippantly, and she tenses. Shit. “Um, I mean... sorry babe. I just - never mind. Yes, of course you can talk to me as I masquerade as a fully functional adult.”

She shifts to reach her hand up to pinch his nose. “No, there’s no mask there,” she says softly, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face, so he knows she’s not too offended at his ridiculousness.

How the fuck did such a woman fall in love with him, honestly. Seen all the bad amidst the good and decided there was a person worth seeing there anyway. He really doesn’t deserve her.

He wrinkles his nose to jolt her fingers from their spot. “Guess I’ll have to be good then. What’s wrong Liss?”

Her expression falls, slipping into that weird Jedi mask thing she tends to do when she’s worried, like it doesn’t speed up his heart rate every time he sees it. “Flissa... Flissa was asking about when we’re getting married today,” she says carefully, and it takes everything he has not to wince. “I’m not in a rush, of course, and it has only been a short while but... we haven’t really spoken about it at all, even just vague plans or hopes or wishes. And is that.. .is that on purpose?”

Something in his expression must give him away as her eyes widen with something far too close to panic for him to not feel like a terrible person. “Oh, oh I’m not pressuring you, at all! I just... are you alright, Theron?”

He catches her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it, a gesture that always calms her down whenever she’s nervous around him. He doesn’t want her to worry.

“I... I don’t know, I just don’t want to worry about it just yet,” he says quietly. Fitting that he’s caught her left hand and the pretty ring he finally had the chance to pick out for her is basically catching all the light and sparkling and mocking him about how happy she was when he asked her to marry him.

She’s quiet for a moment, shifting enough that she can free her other hand to wrap around his. “Love?” she asks softly. “Are you... having second thoughts about this?”

Panicked at the idea she could even think that for a moment, he immediately pulls her onto his lap, kissing her fiercely. “No! No, of course not. I want to be married to you,” he says, as soon as he gets his breath back.

To his smug delight, Lieca looks a little breathless too. “Theron, I don’t understand.”

He sighs, tipping his head back again on the back of the couch. “I want to be married - which, by the way, sounds completely weird, or is that just me? Just me? Anyway - I want to marry you. But…”

“But…?”

“I don’t want to think about the wedding part.”

He can’t see her face at this angle, but he’s pretty sure Lieca must be looking at him in complete confusion, like he’s got three heads or she’s finally realised what an idiot he is. “Do you... have a particular fear of weddings?” she asks cautiously.

He moves his chin back down, looking at her weirdly. “I-what? No, why would I be afraid of weddings?”

She’s a little pink now, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t know, it seemed like where this was leading? Perhaps there had been an embarrassing incident at a wedding in your past?”

He blinks. “Well, yes, of course, but that’s not the point.”

She frowns, looping her hands behind his neck. “Did you fall into the cake?”

Okay, he’s definitely blushing now. Stars, how did she even guess that? “I, um, Lieca. Not the point. Besides, it gave Secura time to do the dead drop. I told you I hate working in teams.”

She giggles. “I bet you look adorable with frosting on your nose,” she says speculatively. “I’m sorry, please, continue.”

He huffs, shifting his hands to her waist. Maybe if he just says it straight up it’ll be easier to say. Like ripping off a kolto patch way before he’s supposed to, and the same blue eyes sparkling at him now get all dull and _worried_ and- “I don’t want to think about a wedding because I don’t want to invite Jace and Satele.”

Lieca pauses, her smile fading. “What?”

He sighs, looking away. “Everyone always talks about guest lists like they’re this big thing and it’s the most important part but I don’t... I don’t _want_ to think about it. I don’t want to think about how you’re supposed to invite family but I don’t want to. But you love Satele and you’d want to invite her for you and I don’t, I don’t-”

“Theron, love, breathe.”

He looks back as Lieca moves one hand to cup her cheek, her eyes wide and worried as she watches him. “I wouldn’t ask anyone you were uncomfortable with having around,” she says hesitantly. “They’re your parents, if you don’t want to invite them you don’t have to.”

“Biologically? Yes. Otherwise? They’re basically the same as your parents, who aren’t here in a more physical rather than emotional way.” Lieca winces, and he feels like the worst kind of idiot. “I - damnit, Liss, I’m sorry, that was rude and-”

She shakes her head, hand not moving from his cheek. A promising sign. “Theron, it’s okay. Cera and I left so young... we barely knew them. And they’ve been gone for decades now anyway.”

“I guess barely knowing parents is a Thing then yeah?”

She frowns a little. “I thought you and Jace…?”

Right. He hasn’t mentioned that. “Yeah, I thought so too,” he says quietly, a lot more bitter than he was expecting. But Lieca keeps stroking his cheek with her thumb and that calms him down a lot. “We were... we were both making an effort before, you know? Like it was super awkward, and just... I still can’t believe he asked about you almost immediately, like, give a guy a break - but we were trying.”

She hums to show she’s listening, her hand moving up into his hair, and he relaxes a bit more at the scratch of her nails on his scalp. “And then... you disappeared, the whole thing with Marr and the taskforce, and suddenly there’s this Empire coming at us. And I knew, I _knew_ something was wrong, something wasn’t right about it, and when I finally tracked down Cera - incidentally, you two are way too good at hiding sometimes it’s almost like you’re spies... oh wait, your uncle, um, never mind - she confirmed what had happened. And I just... I needed to do something, you know? I couldn’t just leave you out here.”

She doesn’t protest the way his grip on her waist tightens, still playing with his hair, and he shudders. “The SIS was stonewalling me and I was getting desperate. I tried to think of what I could possibly do to help - you know Cera was busy with her babies at that point, and everything was on hold and I...”

“You asked Jace for help,” she finishes quietly.

He nods, unable to hold back the bitter chuckle. “Yeah. Three guesses how that went.”

“Love...”

He shakes his head. “It’s not like I expected anything,” he interrupts dully. “We barely know each other - he didn’t even know I existed until I threw it in his face. He clearly wasn’t ready to have some stupid kid thrown into his life. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Lieca tugs his head back to face her. “You just wanted a parent to look out for you, that’s not a crime Theron,” she says firmly. “You wanted help and-”

“And he chose the Republic over me. Like he always has. Like he always will.”

Lieca goes quiet, but keeps playing with his hair. “Then I don’t think he’s learned - I think it cost him Satele too,” she says eventually. “She was young, and surrounded by Jedi pressuring her to do what was ‘ _right_ ’, to give up all of her attachments. But I think even the young rebel in her couldn’t ignore what he was capable of.”

He knows she doesn’t mean it like that at all but… “So Jace was too ruthless for Satele and she left him? I’ve done a lot of things the Republic would rather keep hidden too. What does that mean for us?” he asks quietly.

Lieca looks horrified and immediately shifts to hug him fiercely. “Theron, no! That’s not what I meant at all!”

He sighs, hands still looped around her waist. “Like father, like son,” he says heavily.

She suddenly pokes him, hard, and he flinches away from her. “Ow!”

She’s actually glaring at him, and he’s suddenly reminded where exactly Flissa gets that look from. “Just because you both fell in love with a Jedi does not mean that you are the same,” she says crossly. “I’m not the same person as Satele, and you are not the same as Jace. Satele had pressures on her that I could not even imagine, and where she was alone I always had Cera to remind me of what was really important and to stop me pushing people away. Just because you and I disagree on each other’s methods sometimes doesn’t mean we are the same as your parents!”

She’s still frowning, and it’s probably a little bit weird that he finds her so beautiful even when she’s mad. “And Jace made his choices too, but where he made the choices that drove Satele away, you make more of an effort to talk to me about yours, even when its something I find upsetting, because we’re _adults_ and we want this to work. Sometimes that means just not telling me the worse things that happen in your job. Sometimes I don’t tell you the worst parts of my job. Sometimes we do share, and sometimes we agree to disagree.”

She then cups his cheek, her eyes shining. “You left the Republic when you needed to. I haven’t gone back to the Jedi when they needed me to. We’re not the same as your parents, I promise. And if they can’t be proud of you, then that is their failing, and I will just have to be proud enough for all of us.”

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. “ _Force_ , I love you,” he says eventually. “You’re amazing.”

She smiles sunnily, the expression far more natural on her face than her cross frown, and leans forward to press their foreheads together, humming at the way he hisses at her movement. “I love you too,” she says sweetly. “You’re pretty great yourself.”

She then pauses, as though weighing up her options, and he waits to see what she’s going to say. “Even when you drive me crazy by keeping secrets and trying to smash through all opposition and choosing blackmail over diplomacy,” she says teasingly, but there’s a note of hesitance there as though she’s not quite sure how he’ll take it.

He huffs, tightening his arms around her waist. “As opposed to you Miss ‘ _just leave me here in mortal danger I’m sure I can calm everything down if I smile brightly enough_ ’?” he returns, moving forward to rub his nose against hers. “Trying to save everyone, exhausting yourself healing _everyone_ , going all _Jedi_ mysteriously, and, and stealing all the pillows!”

She laughs, eyes shining. “Well, you steal all the covers! Bed thief!”

He raises an eyebrow. “A thief, am I?”

She nods. “The worst kind of thief, _spymaster_.”

He growls at her and she shrieks with laughter as he suddenly moves her from his lap to lying across the couch, quickly moving to pin her down. “Maybe I just want to steal kisses,” he says slyly, bracing for the groan at his cheesiness.

Instead she surprises him by tilting her chin up to kiss him first, soft and sweet. “You can't steal what's freely given,” she says as she moves back, looking rather pleased with herself.

Intrigued now he moves to kiss her again and she grins at him. “I will still never like your spicy foods,” she murmurs between kisses, and he realises she’s continuing her teasing call-outs.

Can't leave it at that can he? “So you don't like me making food for you?” he rebuts, moving to kiss her neck.

She arches under him and he grins. “Of course I do,” she says a little breathlessly. “But maybe not so spicy.”

He starts slowly kissing up her neck, still keeping her hands pinned in his. “Fine. But you have to stop trying to get me to drink that awful fruit tea.”

She gasps, either at his lips on that weak spot behind her ear or in outrage. “But it's good for you!”

He pulls a face at her before kissing her lips again, doing his best to turn them a more rosy pink. “Lots of things I do aren't good for me. Like your eating whatever’s in the cupboard on the rare times you actually eat breakfast.”

She flushes, arching up again in a clearly more deliberate manner. “Says the man with donuts in his pockets all the time.”

He draws back, grinning at how her mouth tries to follow his. “I promise that's not a donut,” he says slyly.

She giggles in embarrassment. “I might like it anyway.”

He growls, smirking at the way she shudders at the sound. “Might?”

Her eyes are sparkling and he honestly loves her so much. “Convince me otherwise.”

And so he does, kissing her fiercely as the mood shifts significantly. It's so hard to focus with her in his arms and his name on her lips but he manages. After at least one round they make it back to their bed and he murmurs promises of their future into her skin while her fingers tangle in his hair. And she’s sighing back her own promises to him, her back arching at his touch, and it feels so much more personal than it usually does. It's usually slow and sweet but it's the first time it involves so many whispers of the future and what they both have to offer that it makes his head spin more than usual.

It's probably just the wedding talk from earlier but it almost feels like vows, and Force he’s such a sappy idiot. But she loves him and that's what matters.

It’s a little while afterwards, when he’s still trying to get his breath back and Lieca is drawing circles on his chest that she carefully brings it up again, like she knows where his thoughts were wandering. “You know... if you don’t want a big wedding with family, we could do it with just us,” she murmurs, her lips on his skin still making him jump even after everything.

His thoughts are still way too scattered, his brain clearly still consumed by thoughts of her. “Hmm?”

She props her head up to look at him, hair tousled, eyes bright, lips stung with kisses, and she's never looked more beautiful. Though he's pleased she's still a little breathless too. “A private wedding,” she says patiently. “Just us. Though, I would like Flissa there too. Our own little family.”

He swallows, suddenly reminded of that particular situation. Lieca can obviously feel his heartbeat speed up again under her hand as she smiles sweetly. “Theron, she adores you. She’s so thrilled, you don't have to worry about that.”

Apparently sensing her eyes on his are making him more nervous she lowers her head back to his chest, and he jumps as she kisses the skin again. “I just want you to be happy, Theron,” she says eventually. “I love you.”

He swallows again. “I love you too babe,” he says slowly, before pausing. “You think you want to combine work with a kind-of sort-of honeymoon?”

She looks up at him again and smiles. “I knew that was the only way to get you to take a vacation,” she teases.


	28. Elope

 

Their alarm goes off way too early the next morning for Lieca’s tastes, but if they want to get to Sarkhai at a decent hour they do have to leave pretty soon. To her everlasting amusement, it takes a few more kisses than she planned to coax Theron out of bed with her, given that he’s barely even a person in the mornings, let alone a morning person; she deftly untangles herself from his arms when he tries to slyly claim further liberties, all cuddly and sleepily turned on, and she giggles at his pouting when she resists. “Theron! We have to go!”

Hazy golden eyes watch her far too intently as she moves towards their bags, and she jumps a mile when his hands appear on her waist a few moments after she turns around again. “Do we have to?” he murmurs sleepily, apparently singularly focused as his lips move to her neck.

She squeaks at him as she spins out of his arms, hurriedly shoving his shirt and jacket into his bare chest as a distraction. “We’re going to be late!”

He grumbles as he pulls his shirt over his head, and that at least is proof that he was earnestly trying to tempt her with the promise of more sleep, rather than... anything else. “Aren’t you the one who says I need to sleep more?” he says grumpily, apparently having used up all his agility points in sneaking up behind her, as he now seems to be stuck in his shirt.

She rolls her eyes affectionately and steps closer to help him, kissing him when his head pops out of the neck of the shirt, hair adorably askew. “You can sleep on the ship, I can pilot at first,” she says warmly, tugging the shirt to lie flat against his belly instead of hitched up around his armpits. “Come on, let’s go find you some caf.”

She hides her giggle at the way he clearly perks up at that, fingers no longer fumbling at his belt as he slips his blaster into its holster. “Fine by me,” he says gruffly, stifling his yawn with the back of his hand. “You look very pretty today.”

She flushes at the compliment, smoothing down the skirt of her favourite blue dress with one hand as she tucks her hair behind her ear with the other. “Thank you,” she says. “You look nice too, love.”

He ducks his head, his implants catching the light, but he really does look handsome in a neat black jacket rather than his usual red and white one. The slimmer cut of this jacket suits him better, and she should really never let him know how good he looks in darker colours. Far too dangerous and distracting.

But the sly look on his face when her gaze wanders back to it shows that he is already well aware of her opinion on the matter, oops. “Like what you see?” he smirks.

She drops her gaze instantly, stepping forward to fiddle with his collar. “Of course,” she says quickly, a little embarrassed to be caught staring. “Now - are you sure about this?”

His hand closes over hers. “Yes, I’m sure,” he says quietly, waiting for her to lift her gaze again so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. He grins, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “Besides, I wouldn’t dare disappoint Holiday.”

She giggles. “So it’s just _Holiday_ you’re worried about?”

He sighs, leaning forward to rub their noses together. “She is significantly more shrill than you,” he says dryly.

She kisses him quickly. “None of that,” she scolds teasingly, before pulling back slightly. “Holiday?”

The pink hologram appears instantly in the little console next to their door, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh! Oh is it time? Excellent! Oh, but where is your dress? Don’t you want something fancier?”

Lieca blushes, tucking her hair behind her ear again as she moves closer to the door. “Holiday, darling, you don’t need to fuss,” she says quickly. “How about this, I’ll let you help me pick a dress when we do a big party with everyone?”

Holiday beams, clasping her hands together. “Wonderful! I already have ten thousand, three hundred and twenty-six potential dresses on my list - with a little more time I’m sure I can find something absolutely beautiful!”

Lieca blinks. “That’s… a lot of dresses, Holiday. Please, you don’t have to go to any trouble on my account.”

Holiday’s image flickers, her usual outfit quickly shimmering to some gorgeous flowing gown. “Nonsense! It’s no trouble. See, see, this is my favourite so far!”

She smiles. “It’s lovely, Holiday. You know, I’m sure Tharan would love to see it - did you show him too?”

Holiday gasps, clearly scandalised. “Lieca! You can’t show your dress to your betrothed ahead of the wedding!”

She and Theron share a look, and he very pointedly looks down at her dress; she covers her mouth, pretending to gasp silently, and they both stifle their giggles as they turn back to Holiday. “Did you find everything we need?”

Apparently not picking up on their little exchange, Holiday beams at them, an extravagant bouquet of flowers appearing in her hands. “Yes, of course! Raj and Flissa are in the gardens near your ship’s hanger. I think he has been sufficiently bribed with caf and Flissa’s sweet talking. She definitely learned that from her mama, she’s such a dear little sweetheart!”

“I’ll say,” Theron answers, smirking when he stands with his hip pressed against their desk, arms folded and clearly very pleased with himself. “She can convince anyone into all sorts of trouble.”

Lieca is pretty sure her cheeks are just glowing pink by now. “Theron, you know you don’t have to do this,” she says.

His expression immediately turns serious, and he moves off of the desk, stepping closer to kiss her. “Liss, I _did_ propose first, you know,” he says quietly, pressing his forehead to hers. “I know I get lost in my own head quite a lot, but this? I don’t doubt this.”

She moves her hand up to cup his cheek, smiling when he covers her hand with his. “I’m glad,” she says, kissing him again.

He raises an eyebrow as she moves back. “Besides, you gave me more warning than Doc gave your sister, so I’m fine. You didn’t just kidnap me on our way to the ship and demand a wedding - though I’m kinda surprised you didn’t.”

She gasps in horror and he grins before breaking free of her and making for the door, clearly far more alert than he had been a few minutes ago. “Theron!”

His slightly longer legs would give him the advantage if she didn’t have the Force to guide her, and the rush she feels as it moves over her skin to speed her almost matches the way she feels when he smiles at her all soft and shy like that. She feels like a teenager again, giddy and silly and bursting with laughter and joy just at that wonder of being alive, running just for the sake of it, running like they’re playing chase like little children. It’s hard to worry about the Alliance and... everything else in the galaxy when she feels so giddy just being in Theron’s presence. Her sisters will understand - this is something that’s just about the two of them. Her family will have their chance to celebrate later. Cera at least will enjoy holding it over her head in turn, after all the years she’s teased her about her and Doc. It feels right to do it this way, something for just the two of them.

The base is mostly still asleep at this hour, the light of the morning sun only just breaking over the far hills and turning everything to gold, the mists lingering in the fields hanging like silver in the air. A few bemused soldiers on the late night guard duty watch them curiously as they run, but for the most part the halls are empty; it feels almost surreal, in a way, like running in a dream. It takes only a few minutes to find their way into the field beside her ship, shivering in the brisk chill still lingering in the air; their breathlessness might be a combination of both their run there and the cold - but it’s also very likely that it’s the few moments Theron took to pull her close for some long kisses.

On the far side of the ship, away from any prying eyes that might be lurking in the base, Flissa and Raj are waiting beneath a lovely flower arch, and her heart catches in her throat. It might not be Alderaanian alpine ferns or ice roses in the display, but the enthusiastic nod to her family heritage makes her eyes well up with tears. Flissa shrieks happily when she spots them, and Raj looks on fondly as she clambers up from the cushion she’s been sitting on and runs to their side, gleefully hugging her mother and then Theron. “You’re here! Yay!”

Theron drops to one knee to return the hug ferociously, and when Flissa squirms away in excitement he takes both of her little hands in his, expression serious as he says something quietly to her under his breath. Lieca can feel her lip wobbling, and it’s far too early to be crying when they haven’t even started yet, so she turns to Raj instead. “Thank you for taking the time to do this, I know it’s so early,” she says apologetically.

The pilot smiles back, though she’s pretty sure the alertness in his eyes is mostly due to caf, considering the early hour. “Happy to help,” he says smoothly. “With Koth away at the moment, I like the distraction.” He then grins, moving his hand up to tug on his ear for a moment. “Besides, he’ll be totally jealous I got to do this instead of him.”

Lieca raises an eyebrow. “How many credits does this earn you?”

Raj laughs, green eyes sparkling more earnestly instead of mischievously. “Oh, you know - enough.” He slaps his hands together, rubbing them as if he was scheming. “So, if there’s no objections, we should get started. You lovebirds have a flight to catch.”

Flissa leads a slightly pink-cheeked Theron over to them, tugging his hand until he’s standing where she wants him too. “Okay! We’re ready!” she says, poking him until he kneels beneath the floral arch on the waiting cushion.

Raj nods at her solemnly. “Excellent. Can’t have my little helper saying no, can I? What am I supposed to do without your help?”

Flissa beams. “Be miserable,” she says loftily, giggling as Raj pretends to roll his eyes at her.

He sighs. “Well here sweetheart, if it’s not too much trouble, pass these to your Mama and help her onto the cushion, eh?” he says, shyly offering a bouquet of flowers, and Flissa happily skips over to hand them to her.

Lieca stares at the flowers in astonishment, turning wide blue eyes to Raj. “Raj, you didn’t have to do this. We’re already inconveniencing you enough, and-”

Raj holds up a hand to stop her. “Nonsense. Might be a little thing, but you deserve some ceremony for your own wedding.”

After a moment’s pause, too overwhelmed to speak, she finally nods, and takes Flissa’s hand for balance as she carefully kneels on the cushion opposite Theron; Flissa immediately starts pulling on her skirt, obviously trying to make it fan out in some kind of perfect circle, and her daughter’s relentless attention to detail makes her laugh as much as it make her want to cry. “Thank you,” she says softly, smiling at Theron whose expression is soft as he looks back at her. “All of you.”

“You look beautiful,” he says, taking the initiative to steal one of the flowers from the bouquet and tuck it behind her ear.

She flushes. “So do you,” she replies quickly, before looking at Raj and Flissa. Flissa is already practically bouncing on her toes, looking so thrilled that she has to wonder if she’s stopped moving once in the last hour or if she even slept last night; she notices that she has similar flowers to the bouquet and the arch in her hair too, a little halo of ribbons and pale roses in her dark curls. No doubt Raj is excellent at weaving things into hair braids after all of his and Koth’s shifts at babysitting every now and again.

Raj smirks, winking at her. “Well, I think you both look gorgeous - but I _am_ a taken man. And in a few minutes, you two will be as well. So! Should we get down to business?” Raj then directs them to hold hands, and it takes them a moment to juggle the bouquet adequately between them and still hold hands, causing Flissa to giggle and Raj to sigh dramatically.

Honestly, if you were to ask her afterwards, she couldn’t remember exactly what was said in the ceremony. Raj gave sly twists to the traditional vows he had learnt from his people, and she remembers being touched that he added a flair of Alderaanian traditions to his words, but the actual speech itself doesn’t stick in her memory. She remembers the look in Theron’s eyes when she says her vows to him, and the way he laughs when she promises to always heal him when he is injured, even if it is his own fault. Flissa chirping up about it was always his fault, like it was sage wisdom she’s learnt over the years, had all of the adults laughing, though Theron feigned being a little outraged too.

And then it was her turn to blush as Theron promised to love her always, even when she stole all the bed covers and dodged his kisses to go save someone else, and it leaves her a little tongue-tied to hear him talk seriously about how she helped him find the loving family he always wanted - even if said family came with a lot more teasing and friendly insults than he was expecting (the last said with a pointed look at Raj who has obviously perfected the ‘ _innocent_ ’ face).

A beaming Flissa, tugging on Raj’s hand, gleefully declares them husband and wife at the same time as the pilot. And then Flissa interrupts Raj again to demand that they kiss before Raj could tell them to, and she laughs as Theron teases her daughter by kissing her hand first instead. Flissa’s brief outrage stops as Theron then kisses her properly, cupping her face in both hands almost reverentially as he does so, and she’s nearly breathless as they pull apart and climb to their feet.

Theron then spins her around, still laughing even as he kisses her again, and Flissa is all but jumping up and down next to them before Theron places her on the ground again. She nuzzles his forehead, smiling at him so widely it almost hurts, and then Flissa crash-tackles into them both for hugs too, pressing her face into her mother’s skirt as she tries to physically worm her way right into the centre of the hug.

Theron looks rather bashful even as Flissa climbs all over them, and in a matter of moments she’s scampered up onto Theron’s back and is whispering into his ear. Lieca, a little overcome with emotion, moves over to kiss Raj’s cheek. “Thank you,” she says, and the pilot’s cheeks actually look a little flushed as he bashfully rubs the back of his head.

“It’s no problem, Lieca,” he says smoothly, though he’s clearly a little more stunned when Flissa directs Theron over so she’s in range to kiss Raj’s cheek too. And then Theron, looking way too pleased, leans over to kiss him too and Raj sighs in resignation.

“Alright lovebirds, get going. You’re going to be late at this rate, and if you leave it too much longer, I suspect you’re going to have a family on the warpath.”

 

* * *

 

_Several weeks pass..._

Calli wanders into the war room, munching on an apple she had stolen from Doc’s stash, and is unsurprised to find Lana with her head in her hands on the table with her wife behind her slowly rubbing her neck.

It’s been about two weeks or so since Lieca and Theron eloped and ran off together, and honestly? She’s pretty surprised no-one has chased after them yet. She had been a little (okay a _lot_ ) hurt that she hadn’t been invited to the ceremony, every fear and every ugly spectre in her head rearing up gleefully to point out that she was not important and not relevant and not wanted, but she’d beaten the damn things into sullen submission once she’d learned that nobody had been included, not even Cera. It felt less like a deliberate exclusion, especially when Holiday quietly passed on the letter Lieca had written for her; her sister’s joy is so goddamn tangible, her smile all but leaping from the screen. It’s good that she’s so happy.

And, well, it was pretty convenient of them to do their honeymoon around a planned trip anyway - but the Alliance is still suffering without Lieca’s gentle touch when it comes to diplomacy. It’s amazing how much they take for granted her seemingly magical ability to smooth shit over with nothing more than a smile and an endless supply of patience.

Of course Lieca is still in contact with them all, but it’s harder to coordinate things when she’s not physically there, and Lana in particular seems to be trying to fill her shoes no matter how much Cera badgers her to take care of herself instead. It doesn’t really help that ever since Voss, the Sith Empire has been trying to start something with them - they’re not sure if it’s a good something or a bad something, to be completely frank, who can ever tell with a Sith - and the hoity-toity asshole on Acina’s team insists on dealing with Lieca, not a ‘ _rogue Sith_ ’ like Lana or even Jezhara. The idiot was lucky to survive that incident, Jezhara promising murder in her eyes while Cera had to intervene all while attempting to masquerade as her twin. Stupid aide had the gall to be all dismissive about it too, as if he honestly didn’t care how close he came to death by insulting the former Wrath of the Empire. If Cera hadn’t been playing Lieca, she probably would have let Jezhara at him. Ungrateful bastard.

It’s not like Calli has been privy to the finer details of the negotiations - she ain’t no diplomat, thank you very much - but from what she can tell from the discussions later in the evenings when Cera and Lana stagger back to them exhausted and frustrated, it seems like Acina is open to negotiating some sort of alliance with them. Probably to try to trick them into doing her dirty work, since she’s still technically bound by Zakuulan law and can’t openly retaliate against the Eternal Fleet. Jezhara sneers over her wine in the evening that the Alliance is probably cheaper than hiring the Imperial equivalent of the GenoHaradan. It’s obvious to the few of them that know about it that Acina is simply covering her bases, trying to control the flow of information to the Alliance rather than working around the various defections they’ve all had going on.

But it still leaves Lana looking way too stressed and Cera is rapidly building up steam trying to hold her tongue long enough in their discussions to successfully masquerade as Lieca, and Calli sighs as she rummages in the pouch on her belt. “Lana, it’s way too early for this,” she says wearily, throwing over a bar of her favourite chocolate.

Lana looks up blearily, but Jezhara easily catches the treat before it hits her in the face. “Your objections are noted,” she says primly. “Shall I add it to the tallyboard, my dear?”

Lana glares up at her wife, whimpering when Jezhara moves her other hand away from her neck. “No, darling, I am fine,” she mutters, and Jezhara rolls her eyes but still bends down to kiss her.

“Stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one.”

To Calli’s surprise, she recognises Geralt lurking in the corner, frowning as he spins around on his fancy hover chair with his left ankle on his right knee and glares at his datapad. “It’s a little disgusting how easy it is to find dirt on these idiots,” he says tiredly, before looking up at her. “Oh, hey Cal. Did you see Risha on your way in?”

She shakes her head, tossing the other apple from her stash at him which he catches with ease. “No, she must still be with the kidlets,” she answers. “What have you got?”

Geralt sighs and turns to the center console, all winning smiles and voice oozing charm. “Holiday, my darling, could you please show everyone what we’ve got so far? You deserve a chance to show off, babe.”

The console flickers to show Holiday’s usual pink form - in yet another different wedding dress today, that has to be at least her nineteenth so far this week - and the image of some Imperial prick to her left. Honestly, with their blandass uniforms, they’re all completely interchangeable anyway, how is anyone supposed to tell them all apart? “Oh my, I wasn’t expecting to be summoned so soon,” Holiday titters, clearly looking the picture of perfection despite what she says. “My hair is a mess!”

Geralt clicks his tongue. “Nonsense babe, you look gorgeous. Cedrax is certainly going to swoon if he sees you in that skirt.”

Calli rolls her eyes. “Maybe, but that top isn’t quite as nice as the one you had on yesterday Holiday. Maybe you should try for more Naboo fashion rather than Dantooine? Did you see the Fashion Week on Chandrila this year? There were some really good dresses in from Naboo, real slinky.”

Geralt raises his eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry Calli, is her top too conservative for your tastes? Not everyone likes baring half their chest, alright?”

His criticism takes her by surprise, and she glares at him. “I’m sorry, what are you, my grandfather? Who pissed in your Fruit Loops this morning?”

He glares right back. “I’ve been dealing with Corso for two whole weeks, Calli,” he whines, and the switch from serious snark to more petulant whinging means he listened to her, and is trying to calm down a bit. “And then we had to go pick up the Tiralls, and fucking _stars_ that Anya is a personality. I’m _exhausted_.”

Jezhara speaks up from where she’s still rubbing Lana’s neck. “Abelli, your own daughter is already a handful. Do not blame Tirall. It is your wife that should be commended, if only for putting up with _you_.”

Geralt says nothing back but extends a rude gesture in Jezhara’s direction, which she returns with a lazy wave of her hand.

Before things descend into further anarchy, Cera sweeps into the room with bags under her eyes and an equally tired Thexan in tow, and she wishes the sudden appearance of a Tirall twin with blue eyes didn’t make her heart skip. “Settle down, you two,” Cera says wearily. “It’s far too early for this.”

Thexan nods awkwardly in greeting to the others. “Hello everyone,” he murmurs, before shooting a small smile at Calli.

She’s a little confused about why she’s being singled out, but she returns it gladly - at least someone is happy to see her. “Glad to see you made it back in one piece,” she says cheerfully, ignoring Geralt’s whining about her insult towards his piloting skills. “Did you have a nice break?”

He nods, moving his right hand up to rub his left shoulder. “Yes, it was quite lovely,” he says, wincing as he rubs the joint. “The girls quite enjoyed the time away, though I think Anya is certainly glad to be returned to her playmates. Perhaps Ona’la will fret less, now that her charges are returned to her care.”

Lana chuckles dryly, lifting her head again. “All your years of marriage, and yet you still hope for the non-existent. Your wife will find another way to fuss, it is her caring nature.”

Thexan ducks his head, looking a little bashful, and Holiday takes the moment to force the room to acknowledge her again. “Excuse me!”

Cera looks at the console with curiosity, apparently identifying the Imperial at a glance. “Lorman? What’ve we got about him?”

Geralt speaks up, sounding smug. “Well, he’s on Acina’s staff, Minister for Logistics and what not, and-”

Holiday pipes up before he can finish. “And he’s working for Chancellor Saresh too! Oh, I’m sorry Geralt, but I just couldn’t wait!”

Cera raises an eyebrow. “Saresh? That’s certainly interesting.”

Geralt sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Which means that anything we give to Acina, is going to go to Saresh too.”

Cera glares at him. “Yes genius, we figured that out.”

Geralt blows a kiss in her direction and Calli giggles at her sister’s face. “I am even less likely to agree to meet Acina on Dromund Kaas now,” Cera notes sourly. “I mean, we always _knew_ it was going to be a trap at worst or a bad idea at the very least, but if Saresh is on the warpath too, I don’t want to give her any more ammunition - like a Jedi travelling to an Imperial world to discuss an alliance.”

Jezhara opens her mouth to interject, but Cera cuts her off. “I know we are here and probably not officially Jedi any longer, but we all know that Lieca and I are still considered close enough to be Jedi by anyone with an opinion on the matter, especially if they know Satele is here too.” She rubs at her face, as if her eyes are gritty. “Holiday, is Lieca available yet?”

Holiday nods. “She logged onto the system about an hour ago. Oh, she’s even leaving a message now, do excuse me!”

Holiday’s pink form then shifts to Lieca, who looks almost as tired as Cera does. Considering she’s supposed to be on her honeymoon with her darling new husband (which is still just _ugh_ ), she should probably look a little more lively, and Calli frowns as her sister speaks. _“Hello everyone. Are you all well?”_

Lana pries herself out of her chair, coming to stand in front of the console. “I would be better if you were here instead. We managed quite well previously, but we had grown used to your expertise... and your contacts.”

Lieca seems to perk up a bit at that, her eyes sparkling. “ _Oh Lana, you do care!”_

“Admitting your usefulness to our organisation is different,” Lana answers hotly, but she does smile. “I should hope that your new husband is taking care of you on your sabbatical.”

Lieca ducks her head, looking a little embarrassed. _“He is, of course. He’s just stepped out to get some food. Have you had any luck securing lodgings for talks with Empress Acina? I made a few notes about Nar Shaddaa, given the neutrality of the setting, and I know Theron also made enquiries. No doubt Jahlia knows of somewhere suitable?”_

Jezhara steps up to her wife, moving her arm around her waist. “Yes, where is our _dear_ Darth Imperius?”

Cera sighs. “Apparently little Ariadne has inherited her mother’s affinity for Force ghosts... and is currently tormenting Darth Marr. Andronikos was too busy laughing to help.”

Calli frowns. “Marr? He hasn’t shown up for awhile - wasn’t he supposed to be sealing Emperor Dickhead or something?”

Thexan chokes back a laugh, quickly moving one hand over his mouth to try to cover the movement, and Jezhara grins widely, showing too many teeth. “Oh, I do love your epithets for that moronic imbecile,” she says delightedly, even as Lieca clicks her tongue in disapproval.

But Calli is not distracted, feeling a sense of disquiet as she looks at Cera’s unsmiling face. “Cera?”

Lieca is also far too quiet, and Cera eventually nods. “He still is. But we are going to need a more permanent solution soon. Anyway, Lieca, have you had any luck with the contracts for Naboo? And did Nadia get those last few signatures for Sarkhai?”

 _“Theron sent through some reports for Naboo... I did not ask how he got that information, so don’t tell me. We’ve only got a short while before he comes back and scolds me for working again,”_ Lieca answers, obvious fondness in her tone.

Jezhara pretends to gag but Lana and Cera studiously ignore her, both moving over to the console to send reports through Holiday, and the room is soon buzzing with activity. But Calli doesn’t forget the way her sisters reacted to her questions about Valkorion, and she’s suddenly terrified he might not be as safely sealed away as they thought. Hasn’t Lieca suffered enough??

And then there’s the _other_ thing they’re all not talking about - their attempts to track down Arcann, while Calli desperately pretends she has no idea where he is. And to be fair, Lieca and Cera are also pretending they don’t know what’s going on, so it’s not just her at all. It’s not just her poor judgement and tangled emotions and a kiss that still kinda haunts her for it’s ridiculousness.

Of course it’s Lana who brings the conversation back to Arcann, and Calli quickly looks down at her datapad, kicking Geralt when he starts humming next to her. Fuck, she keeps forgetting he knows too, the bastard is way too good at deflecting everything when he wants to. “My contacts have had little success in pinning down Arcann’s location,” Lana conclues eventually. “He’s apparently been spotted on multiple worlds, but we have had difficulty confirming any of the reports, and each grows more ridiculous than the last.”

Geralt snickers under his breath. “You mean you _don’t_ think he’s running an orphanage on Nar Shaddaa out of one of Giradda’s pleasure barges? I think that’s my favourite.”

Way too many eyes glare at Geralt for that, but he seems ridiculously unfazed. “You’re right, that’s way too much fun for that stick-up-his-ass. Carry on.”

Lana stares at him for a few more moments before shaking herself. “Anyway. Rumours have been spreading through worlds throughout the Core to the Outer Rim and back again, and it’s obviously completely out of hand. But the most substantiated sightings have been, surprisingly, on Tython, Voss, Onderon, Rishi and…”

Lana trails off, looking back at her datapad, and then up at a suddenly guileless Thexan. “... this is you,” she says finally. “This is you they are talking about, not Arcann. You went to those worlds.”

Thexan blinks back at her, before suddenly smacking his forehead. “Oh gosh, I forgot to get the girls breakfast!” he declares, more obvious falsehood in his voice than when Geralt has stolen Risha’s truffles. “I should go do that. Immediately. Right now. Ah, carry on!”

“Thexan!”

He all but runs out of the room, and Lana glares after him before huffing and tossing her datapad onto the nearby table irritably. “Fine! I shall pursue different avenues of enquiry then,” she mutters angrily, moving over to another console to start working. “Bloody waste of my time…”

Calli sighs at the sounds of Theron returning on Lieca’s side, ignoring the sweethearts’ ridiculously sugary banter for her own sanity, and hisses at Geralt when he pokes her again.

She’s fine, everything’s fine.

Seeing the way Thexan rubbed his shoulder as he left definitely didn’t make her think of any certain ex-Emperors and how they’re healing from arm injuries and wondering if they’re okay.

Don’t be ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

Arcann slowly comes to, instinctively wincing with the pain as his body protests mightily about his waking state. He realises he can hear a woman’s voice nearby, deeper than he is used to from Vaylin or any of his servants. He can’t place her voice at all, indicating she’s a complete stranger to him, and he winces again at the feel of strong fingers pressing firmly on the skin around his cybernetic arm. Wait… his arm? Wasn’t his arm gone? Did he just dream it all?

A whisper lingers in his head. “ _Don’t die, asshole_.”

 _Calli_.

Did Calli only look after him in his dreams? The last thing he remembers hearing is Calli’s voice murmuring soothingly to him, and he almost flinches with the memory as the doctor starts moving her fingers up his neck and over his face, feeling the ghost of Calli’s fingers there. Just proof that his memories are not his own, that he must have been hallucinating. What cause would Calli have to show any sort of compassion towards him?

The wave of self-loathing nearly makes him want to throw up, and he desperately swallows as he tries not to move. Calli would not have helped him, no matter how clearly he can hear her voice and remember her touch. He’s just being a fool. Besides, she is his _enemy_ , and he should certainly despise her as much as she no doubt despises him. Wishing for anything else is useless and a waste of his time. He is _Emperor_ , he has no time for this - this _pining_.

His arm still really fucking hurts.

Well, judging from the medical jargon of the stranger’s speech as she mutters to herself, he appears to be with some sort of doctor. Maybe he didn’t hallucinate it all? It would certainly explain the weird sensations in his arm and left side, like the supports are different, like something has changed.

But if he truly was injured on the flagship... he couldn’t possibly have made it to his own doctors on his own. The whispers of his mother and Calli are ignored in the face of that, that he must be here with some stranger who is touching him and seeing him where he is weakest and learning about how to kill him faster and the panic blazes across his skin and-

The doctor suddenly flicks his good ear and his eyes open with a gasp.

It takes some time for them to focus, no longer guided by the cybernetics in his mask, which he just realised he isn’t wearing. What the fuck _happened_?

Eventually he recognises the bright pink form of a rather tall and muscular twi’lek hovering over him, dark painted lips pulled into a somehow amused frown. “I know you are awake,” she says dryly. “Kindly stop pretending to your doctor.”

He blinks, the harsh lights of the room making his eyes water. “Who are you?” he rasps, angrily speaking through the lump in his throat and trying to force his heart rate down.

The woman shrugs, fingers still poking around his shoulder as she hums. “Doctor Dia’ayla,” she says shortly. “Though I suspect that doesn’t answer your real question, does it?”

“Where are we?”

She sighs, stepping back with her hands in the air. “Alright, I suppose I’ll finish my checks later,” she says in annoyance. “It does not matter where, but you are safe here. I have not been hired by your sister or your enemies. I am here to help you. And frankly, it is far easier to do so when you are unconscious, so kindly don’t give me further reasons to return you to that state. Force users are _notoriously_ difficult to keep sedated after all.”

He blinks in confusion, her frank manner doing little to calm him down, and immediately swings his legs off the bed, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Where am I?” he demands again, ignoring the clench of pain around his midsection and the light-headedness from the movement.

The doctor doesn’t answer, merely watching him with her dark eyes, and he angrily tries to move off the bed. He will not be kept here by this deliberately obtuse woman!

Well he _tries_ to move, and fails, because he is embarrassingly too weak to support himself and merely pitches forward to hit the ground face first.

Except that he stops just before the ground, and everything in him tenses at the feeling of the Force surrounding him, biting back a scream of pain as the movement pulls at his injuries.

The Force slowly moves him up back towards the bed, and he is shamefully too afraid to try to interrupt it - not to mention the way his head is still spinning. As he is gently laid back on the bed, he realises the doctor isn’t even facing him anymore, though the Force is clearly originating from her. It’s humiliating.

But she doesn’t mock him at all, simply waiting until he is settled on the bed again before she turns around, immediately returning her attention to his arm. “Kindly don’t try that again,” she says dryly. “You are still at least mildly sedated, and you are only aggravating the healing process by tensing like that. Thus why it’s taken so long for your injuries to settle in the first place.”

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore her, but she runs her fingers up the inside of his robotic arm and he flinches at the feeling. “What are you talking about?” he croaks.

She flicks his palm, apparently testing the response of his robotic fingers as she makes a pleased noise at the twitching. “I am talking about how you had clearly been doing next to no therapeutic exercises since you sustained the injury to your shoulder and arm all those years ago, even after I drafted that new programme for you. Thank you ever so much for wasting my efforts, it’s truly appreciated. And don’t even think about lying. Honestly, I am surprised that you have not caused even more damage to your spine and the surrounding tissue with that added strain. Your doctors must have been abysmal.”

He snarls, immediately trying to twist out of her grip at the insidious feeling of the Force pressing against his shoulder. “Stop that!” he demands, hoping she can’t hear the flicker of fear in his voice. His voice is also far weaker than he thought, and his head is still spinning.

She stops instantly, but her hand stays on his shoulder. “Please try to relax, Your Majesty,” she says quietly. “I am trying to help.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” he snarls, hating the almost frantic whine to his voice.

The doctor pushes down a little, causing his eyes to fly open with a gasp at the pain, and he notices that she is frowning at him. “Perhaps I should call you _child_ then, as you are certainly acting like one,” she says in annoyance. “No wonder your doctors were abysmal, they probably gave in to your temper. Perhaps I won’t call the medical board down upon them after all. Spineless idiots.”

He growls at her. “Do not insult my medical staff,” he snaps. They were _his_ people, she has no right to judge them!

She gives him a flat look in response. “They have failed in their duty of care. Just because their patient was a petulant _child_ does not give them an excuse. Or did you regularly abuse your power on them too?”

He’s too panicked to ignore the obvious threat she poses, but any instinctive calling upon the Force is drowned out by the way she presses against his human wrist, eyes flashing. “Do _not_ try to attack _me_ , Arcann,” she snaps. “Your mother sacrificed much to save you, and I will not see you waste her efforts by behaving like a spoiled brat!”

What little fight he was capable of mustering in his weakened state goes out of him instantly. He remembers flashes of the aftermath of his battle with Lieca and Cera, flashes of his mother moving to defend him and holding him in her arms. He will not cry. “My mother?” he rasps. “Where is she?”

Dia’ayla’s lips purse. “Senya is with the Alliance,” she says softly, and his blood runs cold. “Last I heard, she was still recovering from the effects of the Voss rituals, but otherwise she seems comfortable.”

“... alive?”

She nods. “Yes. The Voss mentioned that you thought she had died. But I assure you, she’s alive. And probably planning on making some equally reckless decision when she wakes up. It’s obvious where you get it from.”

His head is aching and he’s fairly certain it’s not just from injuries, but also from his racing thoughts. The Voss? He vaguely remembers them but... was that real? “My mother is alive?”

The twi’lek pauses in her ministrations, looking directly into his eyes, and he almost flinches away from her. He suspects she’s about to snap at him again for making her repeat herself, but her expression actually softens and it takes years off her face. “Yes, Senya is alive,” she answers. “There’s no cause for concern. She’s in good hands.”

He swallows. “And me?”

Her brow lifts. “I’m going to pretend I did not just hear you insult my medical qualifications,” she says dryly. “Though if you imagine your afterlife to include me, I have some interesting questions for you and definitely question your sanity. Some might find you pretty, boy, but I have no such proclivities.”

He scowls at her, and she chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re actually offended,” she says in amusement, the Force flickering purple around her hands as she moves them over his shoulder.

He gasps, the sensation similar to icewater down his spine, and tries to wrench his arm away from her. The process itself he finds absolutely fascinating, but the feeling of the Force touching him makes his skin crawl. Unfortunately, she is significantly stronger than him in his current state, and only lets go after she’s apparently convinced he won’t pull the muscles too much. “If you’re not going to let me work on you anymore, this isn’t going to go anywhere.”

“Have you no bedside manner at all?” he snarls. His head hurts.

Her brow rises higher. “Usually, people are less inclined to be so snappish towards me when I am _helping them_ ,” she says warningly.

He swallows. “I-”

She cuts him off with a sigh, releasing him entirely to step backwards and sit on her chair. “Very well. If you’re going to be obstinate, this really will go nowhere. So, ask your questions.”

Well then, perhaps the easiest question. “Who _are_ you?”

“Doctor Dia’ayla. General practitioner with specialised training in trauma and osteo and-”

“You have the Force.”

She breathes through her nose. “I was also trained at the Sith Academy for two years,” she says finally, sounding annoyed. “The only joy I derived from my time there was forcing the instructors to teach me how to deliberately channel my healing abilities. And now you benefit from my years of experience. Congratulations.”

He huffs. “Very well. Why are you caring for me? You’re not Zakuulan.”

She folds her arms, and he tries not to stare at her biceps. “I am a doctor and a professional,” she says testily. “You were injured and needed my aid. Regardless of your... _background_ , I would not turn you away when my help was requested.”

He narrows his eyes. “What? Who asked you to aid me?”

She leans back in her chair, eyes gleaming. “Your mother, actually. Until she demonstrated the lack of forethought that so defines your family and took off into the cosmos. Luckily, I found you both before anything worsened and any permanent damage was caused.”

He stares at her, but her eyes reveal nothing. He’s only a little offended at her casual disregard for his family, but... well, it’s not like he doesn’t expect it. She doesn’t call him Emperor, she doesn’t speak Zakuulan, she mentioned the Alliance. He’s obviously a prisoner.

Strange, how freeing that sounds. No longer bound to the throne and his father’s legacy, instead judged on his own actions and failings.

“What happened?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

He grits his teeth. “The last thing I remember clearly is being on my flagship.”

“That’s rather vague, Master Tirall.” He glares at her and she sighs again. “You did have a significant weight land on you during the explosions, regardless of whatever injuries you sustained during your... _encounter_ with the Masters Amell. I am checking for memory loss, and it’s easiest to do so if you can provide answers to my questions.”

“I do not trust you.”

She slowly stands up again, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little intimidated by her and her complete disregard for his rank. “Very well,” she says shortly. “Tell me what you know and I shall trade. No doubt you wish to hear word of Zakuul in your absence?”

He blinks. “What? How long have I been here?”

Her expression gives nothing away. “Here? A few weeks. You have been gone from Zakuul for over a month now. Your sister has taken the throne, and Empress Vaylin is even less tolerant of the galaxy at large than you.”

“What?” he croaks. His chest hurts at the mere thought of Vaylin there alone in the palace. She needs people she can trust, she shouldn’t be there alone. And Empress? Scyva, he never wished that for her. Not out of a jealous need to keep it all to himself (well not _entirely_ that) but because the pressures of ruling... Vaylin deserves better than that.

“And should you think of attempting escape to return there, I must warn you - Zakuul has declared you a traitor, and I imagine you would not be welcome if you returned before Vaylin has had a chance to process her rage.”

His blood runs cold at the insinuation of-, of _exile_ from his home. Vaylin, she... she _wouldn’t_. He hates the palace, hates the spectre of his father lurking around every door, but it’s _home_.

Where else is he supposed to go?

He doesn’t have anywhere else, any _one_ else.

The doctor seems to realise that her news has distressed him, as she’s quiet for a long moment before speaking again. “I apologise for the bluntness, but you did need to know,” she says quietly. “Now, please move your left arm for me.”

“What’s the point?” he answers dully.

Her response is sharper than he was expecting. “For your mother, if nothing else,” she says crossly. “Now, do you feel any pain in the shoulder joint when you lift your arm?”

Can’t he just go back to sleep, rather than deal with this invasive medical procedure?

At least in his dreams he had Calli to watch out for him.

 

* * *

 

Calli lies sprawled across the couch, her datapad propped up on her raised knee and her extended leg over Geralt’s lap while she reads. He in return is drumming his fingers casually on her calf as he watches his children playing quietly, his attention divided between them and his own datapad.

Risha is locked in some rather hush-hush meeting with the others senior Alliance staff about diplomatic alliances, something rather big if she’s to understand the whispered conversations that’ve taken place in the hallways these last few days; Geralt _had_ been in attendance to begin with, but after he offered to throw large sums of money at the problem, he was subsequently thrown out and told to join Calli at babysitting.

All the older Force-using children are at lessons, with Jaelin curled up on the ottoman next to Calli, and Calinda and Eskel carefully playing with blocks a few metres away, frowning in concentration as they assemble what looks like a rancor crossed with a house. She’s pretty sure she can hear Cera’s twins nearby too, from the distant squeals that echo down the metal corridors; they’re supposed to be in lessons with the rest of the younglings, and have most recently been trying to learn how to levitate small objects with control. Doc has smugly whispered on more than one occasion that Cera is just desperately trying to trick the girls into staying still for more than a few moments at a time.

Calli is actually grateful for the peace and quiet, surprisingly; she’s been spending the last half hour redirecting the flow of information about Arcann away from his actual location, planting false flags across all the far flung corners of the galaxy so that no one can tie down his actual location. She’s trying to act casual so Geralt doesn’t start looking at her like _that_ again, which he’s been doing a lot of and she’s getting tired of it - besides, he decided to help out first, when he helped them on Port Nowhere. He’s got no grounds for judgement. Besides, it’s mostly money-grubbing crime lords out for the reward, and Zakuulan assassins she’s redirecting anyway - her favourite is the member of Vaylin’s Horizon Guard she redirected to Ziost. They’re all very obviously people they don’t want finding Arcann, regardless of what the Alliance chooses to do with him.

She keeps telling herself that. It helps with the guilt. Besides, her sisters are clearly on her side here... not that she has a side. They all just don’t want to outright murder him. Yes, that’s better. No sides just... mutually compatible goals.

It even sounds stupid in her head.

She sighs, and jumps when Geralt taps her boot. “Dispatch to Calli, come in Calli!”

She glares at him warningly when he moves his hand as though he’s about to tickle her calf. Bastard knows all her weak points. “Hey! I’m here, I’m here. What?”

He sticks his tongue out at her. “Have you heard anything I’ve said for the last ten minutes?”

It really wasn’t that long, honestly. But rather than say that, she moves one hand dramatically up to her forehead and feigns swooning backwards, affecting a breathy eager tone. “Oh please, good sir, enlighten me with your previously granted wisdom. It’s sure to be scintillating.”

He frowns. “Caaaaaaaaaal, don’t be like that,” he pouts.

Further teasing is cut off by the sound of the door opening and T7-01 quickly trundles through, gears whirring loudly and seemingly slightly alarmed. “T7 + Calli = Help!”

She sits up instantly, blue eyes narrows. “Teeseven? What happened-”

Her answer is given by the two tiny dark-haired tornados that blast into the room behind the droid, her twin nieces bounding over to her side with raucous shrieks and thudding boots. “Teeseven, Teeseven!”

The sudden noise wakes Jaelin, who immediately starts to fuss, and Calli quickly reaches over to gather the tiny twilek into her arms. “Girls! Please, you woke Jaelin. Hasn’t your Mama told you to keep your voices down at naptime?”

The little terrors look suitably chastised as Jaelin whimpers and snuggles into her shoulder. “Sorry Aunty Calli,” they chant, both looking at their feet while Geralt slides out of the way to check on his kids.

T7 beeps insistently, and Calli gently moves one hand up to start stroking Jaelin’s little lekku nubs when she whimpers at the noise. “I’m sorry Tee, but I’m on babysitting duty. Can it wait for a bit?”

The droid rocks back and forth on its little wheels, looking alarmed. “T7 = sorry! Jaelin + T7 = okay?”

Cera comes barreling into the room a moment later with hair askew and murder in her eyes, and one look at her twins causes them to scatter yet again - Geralt catches Nicola as she runs past him when he sits on the ground with Eskel in his arms, and Cera collars Rianna as she tries to leap over the couch. But Calli decides to ignore their antics and lightly bounces Jaelin on her shoulder. “Jaelin, honey, Teeseven is sorry for scaring you. Are you okay?”

Jaelin whimpers, but dutifully turns a little to see the droid, making sure she stays half-hidden in Calli’s shoulder. “Hi Tee,” she says quietly. “S’ok.”

T7 beeps reassuringly and Calli smiles, still running her other hand up and down Jaelin’s back to soothe her as the catastrophe of the twins unfolds around them. “Beautiful little girl like you? All strong like her lovely Mama? Of course you’re fine. Just a little sleepy, eh?”

Jaelin giggles. “Love Mama,” she murmurs sleepily.

Calli smiles at her, and shifts a little on the couch to make it more comfortable for both of them before turning to T7. “Whatcha got Tee?” she asks quietly, over the top of Jaelin’s head.

T7 trundles closer to be within arms reach and dutifully ejects a datapad. “Cera + Lieca = Agreement. Calli + Jahlia + Andronikos + Lieca + Theron + T7 + Acina = Going to Nar Shaddaa. Calli + T7 = Presents for Kira?”

She wishes her heart rate didn’t speed up with the confirmation they’ve agreed to a mission. If she’s on security detail for creepy potential Imperial alliances... well, protecting Arcann just got a whole lot harder. But she accepts the datapad, clicking her tongue at Jaelin when she starts to fuss again, and opens it against her raised knee. “Kira’s coming too?” she notes absently. That’s right, she has been on Nar Shaddaa for awhile - she vaguely remembers Cera mentioning that some time ago.

“Kira = excited to see everyone. Cera = Promised to bring Alderaanian chocolates. Calli + T7 = best team!”

She smiles at the droid. “You betcha. Do you have any links to what Acina’s been sending? I want to try mining it for traps and see if I can piggyback off their security - especially since they’ll be trying the same with ours.”

“Empire = Will not get past Calli + T7!”

From the dates on her datapad, they’ve still got a few weeks until they’ll actually be meeting with Acina, but might as well get a head start. Especially if she’s re-directing info on Dia and Arcann too. It would be easier with both hands - but she’d rather be cuddling Jaelin anyway. At least the little toddler won’t hurt her for letting her heart rule her head. Not that her heart has a say, of course.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raj belongs to thegingerjedi and little miss Jaelin belongs to Defira!


	29. Run for the Light

Lieca takes a moment while everyone else is arguing to gently rub her forehead, trying to push back the headache that won’t leave. Not much of a chance of that in this situation, but she can hope right? With the rather eclectic group of individuals gathered in the room, she can’t say she’s entirely surprised at the arguing, but she still wishes otherwise.

In the end, Cera had also insisted on joining them on Nar Shaddaa - something about how she would likely let her guard down around Acina - and Jonas and Vitalia were also involved, as they were still planetside and were probably the most familiar with the location after years of being stationed on the smuggler’s moon. Well, they were as involved as two still-technically-employed-by-the-SIS agents could be when dealing with what is essentially a rogue faction.

She’s already had one call from her uncle, equal parts annoyed and concerned, with the old man apparently aware of their movements thanks to either Jonas or Vitalia; he’d called her on a highly secure SIS channel, demanding that they cover their tracks better, and also demanding that they needed to come to their senses regarding dealings with Sith. Whether she’s had any further calls from him, she couldn’t say, as Calli’s response had been to hack his personal files to include brief videos of some holomovie starlet poking her tongue out at him, which seemed to have got the message across nicely by the lack of calls since, other than vague grumblings from Jonas who seems to be catching the flack for it.

Lieca might not always approve of Calli’s methods, but she can’t deny she’s got style. Calli has always been exceptionally talented at enacting creative revenge upon those who have wronged her, especially if they have doubted her skills in the process. Nobody gets away with hurting her baby sister - and it’s probably one of the reasons she hasn’t been too terribly worried about this whole awkward muddle with Arcann. Whatever Calli needs done, she’ll get there in her own time.

Although the big sister instincts kick in a little hard sometimes when she sees Calli staring off into the distance, something haunted in her eyes.

From the elaborate and almost gaudy penthouse apartment that Darth Imperius and her husband Revel call home, Lieca surveys the crowd in the kitchen. Not exactly her first choice for a meeting place, but it’s surprisingly homely, at least - or as homely as is possible for a room so large it looks like it needs its’ own galactic location code. Jahlia is perched on the kitchen bench, her dark eyes streaked with the vibrant purple she is known for, and her blonde hair is tied up in some haphazard ponytail that definitely did not look like her husband had been running his hands through it ten minutes before they arrived. “So what you’re saying is... that we have nothing and have made no progress. Charming,” she drawls.

Andronikos Revel, standing next to his wife with his hip leaning against the bench she was sitting on, snorts. “Come on, Sith, give the slicers a minute,” he says, warily eying up Calli. “I’m in no mood to get my backup account hacked by that girl again.”

Calli, perched on the couch with T7 plugged into the console beside her, raises her head to glare at him. “Try checking the main account instead,” she says haughtily. “And I have a name, _pirate_.”

“Yeah, and it’s _cheater_. You think I didn’t see that pair of kings up your sleeve?”

“Look it’s not _my_ fault you couldn’t get your trick past Bobbi, you numbskull. Stop sulking that I beat you already.”

Lieca would be a little more worried at their interactions if she didn’t know these two had met before - and they get along far better when there is fewer hangovers involved.

Andronikos scowls and Jahlia leans over to ruffle his head, looking amused. “Aw, cheer up Nikki,” she says, sounding amused. “The big bad slicer won’t hurt your widdle feelings again.”

The glare he shoots his wife has a little more heat in it than Lieca was entirely comfortable witnessing, and she coughs awkwardly. “If I might interrupt?” she asks weakly.

Cera, in the chair next to her with her feet on the table, chuckles. “Yeah guys, don’t start having sex on the table and scar my sister. She doesn’t need to see that.”

“Cera!”

Theron pipes up from his spot on the other couch, long legs sprawled somehow all over the place. “Yeah, she knows exactly what they’re going to do, thanks. And as a matter of fact that was us yeste-”

“ _Theron_!” she squeaks.

Her husband - and gosh it’s still so weird to refer to him as such, and she can’t quite help the way her eyes light up at the thought - immediately quietens, cheeks reddening. “Uh, hey, so... about that weather,” he says grandly, one hand on the back of his neck in that adorable nervous gesture of his.

Calli scoffs. “Nice segue, you idiot.”

Theron looks about to protest, but her headache spikes suddenly and Cera winces in time with her. “Enough!” her twin snaps harshly. “We are _supposed_ to be helping each other, and this is _not helping_.”

She can feel Theron’s golden eyes on her, and she wonders if she swayed too; she feels a little light-headed from the pain. Cera’s expression is worried as it lingers critically on her before it snaps back to Jahlia. “What do you have so far?”

Jahlia slides down off the bench, pulling a datapad from Andronikos’ jacket in the process in a gesture that looks far too erotic for something so mundane. “My people have started securing the requested warehouse,” she says dully, like she’s bored out of her brains and just parroting something by rote. “Combined with your own slicers, the location should remain as secret as possible. But you know this is all but war, right?”

Lieca frowns. “But the Empress-”

Jahlia cuts her off with a dismissive wave of her hand, every bit the haughty Sith Lord. “The Empire and the Republic have both been ignoring Zakuul to focus on each other for years now, regardless of the Peace Accords enforced on them. You think the Supreme Chancellor is going to just ignore this meeting? You already told me that Lorman is in her pockets. You may think you’re going to have peace, but you won’t get it. Not here. Not from this.”

Lieca steps forward, her hand over her heart. “It’s not a declaration of war, it is a cautious step towards alliance,” she says beseechingly. “I do not necessarily wish to be the Empire’s friend, but I also do not wish to be their enemy. I’m sure Acina is in the same position as we are.”

Jahlia groans, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, stop looking at me with your pretty blue eyes all sad like that, or I’ll actually start agreeing with you,” she says in disgust. “I will not tolerate further puppy eyes.”

Andronikos sighs, and she pokes his side. “Darling Nikki, her eyes are far more effective than yours. On the rare occasions you try to make eyes at me, one word from me and you cave immediately. You melt faster than my bittersweet chocolates on the sidewalk on Tatooine at noon.”

He huffs, and Lieca hides a giggle behind her hand. “Please, Jahlia, we do need your help. We could not do this without you.”

The Sith sighs dramatically, more of a groan really, blowing her hair off her forehead as if it’s far beneath her to use her hands to move it. “Yes yes, I know. Without me you’d probably agree to go directly to Acina’s lair and then go traipsing off into the woods together on the promise of bunnies or something and get killed with no witnesses. Ridiculous.”

She feels a little offended at that, especially when Cera laughs at her. “Sorry sis, but she’s got you there,” her twin says smugly. “Which is exactly why I am here, to save you from the inevitable conclusion - which is, to save you from yourself.”

“Hey, what about me, don’t I get a say?” Theron calls from his spot, looking annoyed.

Cera turns to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, except my sister could probably seduce you into anything, even without actively _trying_ to seduce you, and if you force me to picture that for one more second I will throw up on you and remind Calli that you are now our brother-in-law.”

Lieca feels her cheeks heat up nearly instantly. “Cera!”

Theron also looks rather embarrassed, but the look he’s giving her makes her flush further. The moment is broken by Calli’s retching noises. “Stop reminding me, ew!”

Any further comment from her husband is drowned out by Calli throwing her pillow at his head. “Gah!”

Calli sniffs daintily. “Well, since the Almighty Imperial Delegation hasn’t yet graced us with their presence, I’m going to the Promenade,” she drawls, doing a rude gesture at Andronikos when he looks at her. “None of you are invited.”

Lieca pauses. “Calli, please, it’s dangerous. At least take-”

“T7 + Calli = best team!”

Calli sighs, jumping fluidly off the couch. “Fine! I’ll take T7. But you weird Force users and terrible card sharks can stay here,” she says cheekily, blowing a kiss at Andronikos on her way out. “Ruin all my fun.”

Jahlia shrugs. “I don’t know about that, he’s excellent fun in his own way,” she smirks, dragging her hands down her husband’s chest.

Lieca puts her head in her hands.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a little over a week since Arcann first woke up under Dia’ayla’s care, and he is definitely restless - and _definitely_ sick of being stuck in this small clinic.

Admittedly, he had remained unconscious for large portions of the first few days, but he’s slowly been spending more time awake than not and he’s _bored_. Dia’ayla has kept him confined to this single suite, and he has already prowled around whenever he can, testing the limits of her patience and the extent to which he stops being a patient and instead becomes a prisoner. More than once, he has cursed his lack of attention to security information - even if he wanted to leave this space, he knows he has no chance of hacking past her locks, no matter how simple they may be.

He could always punch the doors in, maybe. New arm and all.

Feels a bit mean spirited to damage her property after she’s gone to such great lengths to see him healed.

Besides, he understands exactly why he is not permitted to leave. The galaxy’s lack of regard for him is obvious - both from the reports he has seen from the datapad he is allowed to use sparingly, and the few times he has been able to coax the doctor into terse conversation. He has mostly been fishing for information on what has happened since he fled his flagship, but she passes on other tidbits to bribe him to sit still.

He chafes at her coddling, but when he still can’t go for more than a few hours without some sort of ache in either his head or his shoulder, he grumpily concedes that she may be right.

Even the other doctor who had briefly attended him, some sort of neurosurgeon from the way the two twi’leks spoke, had obviously little regard for him as a person. Her golden hands never wavered in her attendance to the implants that now support his weakened ear and eye instead of his mask, but she did not answer a single one of his questions other than those directly pertaining to his health.

He still doesn’t know where he is or how exactly he came to be here. He tries to remember his training, the brutal lessons undertaken all the way through his childhood, trying to analyse his location from smell and sound when his visual cues offered no hints - but all he knows is that wherever this place is, the vaguely foul undercurrent of smoke and the smell of far too many living beings in one place is repulsive after the sterile air of the palace, and the filtered air of his mask. From his questioning over the last week, he knows that his mother took him from the flagship to Port Nowhere first, but sadly Dia’ayla had no idea _why_ she had chosen that location.

He suspects he knows exactly why, from the brief flashes of memory of that time. He must have been thinking of Calli, _again_ , and when his mother needed somewhere to go he offered her home. Something in his chest aches to know if she was actually there, if she might have seen him, if the soft memories he clutches close at night when the nightmares try to take hold might actually be real.

But doubt always creeps in. Gods above, even if she had been there, if his clumsy attempts at gathering intel were correct in deducing her connection to that place... she has made it abundantly clear time and again that she despises him. He can still picture her face when he injured her sister, the grief in her eyes when she shot his shoulder.

But he can’t help but _hope_ sometimes, hope that there may be someone out there who cares about him as a person.

Her sister’s soft expression flashes through his memory but it... it’s not the same. Besides, Lieca has Father’s spectre in her head, and she can’t _actually_ want to aid him so much as she wants to help herself, and he can’t help but flinch violently at the thought of being used, of being a means to an end.

Dia’ayla looks up at his movement, her datapad tossed back casually onto her desk. “Hmm? Have you completed your exercises already?”

He glares at her, his arm aching even as he tries to curl it up again. “It has only been two minutes, you cannot expect me to bend the rules of time and space that much,” he snaps.

The lekku over her shoulder twitches, which he’s fairly sure by now is a sign of her annoyance. He’s never spent much time with twi’leks before, obviously, and so learning her body language cues is an interesting experience. Far better to focus on than the alternative and-

“Arcann, you really must stop tensing your arm at the height,” she says abruptly. “Do you not feel that movement down your entire side?”

He frowns. Now that she mentions it, he can, and he reluctantly corrects the movement as he tries again. “It was not doing that yesterday,” he mutters. His head is starting to ache again - the vibration from the newer ear implants is taking awhile to get used to. He doesn’t remember dealing with this when he first got his mask... but maybe that was just because time had dulled his memories. He’d been in such a haze of pain and rage and grief during those first few months...

Dia’ayla seems to notice, pitching her voice far softer, and he feels a rush of gratefulness even as he knows he doesn’t deserve it. “Doctor Torr did recalibrate the implants yesterday,” she says carefully. “But that should not be affecting your shoulder, only your overall balance. Perhaps if you had not fought us every step of the way, we could have accomplished the correct calibration sooner.”

He frowns at her, slowly moving out of bed at her gesture. “What do you mean?”

She gestures for him to start slowly walking, and he hates to admit that his balance feels far more under control today. Who knew that his useless ear could affect so much?

As he passes by her, trying not to flinch at the appraisal in her dark eyes, she continues speaking. “You kept interfering with our methods, trying to clumsily heal over whatever we did unless I sedated you further.”

It’s enough to startle him, spinning around to face her so quickly that he immediately feels dizzy and moves his hand to his head. “What? But I don’t know how to heal.”

He feels the flow of her Force powers helping him stay steady, and he wishes he would stop tensing at the soft flicker of purple over his skin even as she answers him. “Obviously. I’ve seen five year olds with more control than you. But you kept trying. Stubbornness seems to run in your family.”

He scowls. “No, you do not understand. Force healing is not... a _skill_ amongst my people,” he says, deliberately repressing the hot flush of shame that comes from even admitting such a thing. Memories try to poke at him, memories of his father instructing the tutors not to encourage such infantile whimsy in him. “I should not be manifesting such powers, even whilst unconscious.”

Dia’ayla pauses, tilting her head to the side. “Individuals who can successfully heal with the Force _are_ rare individuals,” she agrees eventually, assessing him carefully. “But it is not a skill to be dismissed outright. Were you ever tested?”

He scoffs at her, turning away for a moment. “I was the child of the Emperor. I had no need for the testing methods of _Scions_ ,” he snaps, the word curdling in his mouth like sour milk. They betrayed him, turned on him, helped his father hurt him.

But Dia’ayla’s expression does not change. “Your phrasing is poor,” she says softly. “A Child of the Emperor means something very different to the rest of us.”

He remembers the reports on Lieca Amell, and the individuals who plagued her work in creating and stabilising the former Rift Alliance. “I have no interest in the exploits of your Sith Emperor,” he says crossly, starting to slowly walk around the room again to test his balance and the weakness in his core, following the coloured line on the floor of the clinic.

“He was not _my_ Emperor,” Dia’ayla sniffs. “And you would do well to remember that you cannot avoid his history too.” She then sighs. “And you still shift to the left when you move, _concentrate_.”

He growls at her, annoyed that he could tell as soon as she pointed it out. “Fine. But you still need to tell me what happened on Voss.”

She has been avoiding his questions so far, though if he’s careful he might be able to discover what he wants to know without giving away the reason. Calli is _not_ his weakness, of course not - but he does not particularly want to even give a vague impression that she _might_ be one.

She hums under her breath. “Straighten your spine first, stop slouching.”

He’s prepared to ignore her, but with completely frustrating timing his body decides to take that opportunity to stumble, and her Force powers catch him before he moves more than one pace ahead. “I... fine.”

She’s all but radiating smugness. “What else do you wish to know?”

As soon as her Force powers ebb away, he resumes walking, still testing his balance. Hmm, if he concentrates, he really does notice the difference, and corrects his posture with a frown. His new arm is far lighter than his former robotic arm, and moving feels far more natural with it. Though he notices that he sometimes tenses incorrectly through his shoulder, as though expecting the previous weight. “It seems that you are not telling me everything.”

He would not want to play this woman in a game of chance, her expression gives nothing away. “Your mother fled my side to go to the Voss,” she says, counting off on her fingers as if to mock how many times she’s had to repeat such information, “and requested that they use their rites to heal you. The timeframe required for their easier rituals stressed her, and so she requested the rite of equivalent exchange - her life for yours. Luckily for both of you, her sacrifice was not permanent.”

He frowns. “I... may not know my mother well after all our years apart, but it seems that a sudden decision to change to a ritual that required so much on her part-” A sacrifice that still makes his chest ache, he is _not worthy_ of what she gave up, “-is unlike her. What caused her to change her mind?”

“I’m afraid I know your mother even less than you do,” the doctor answers politely. “I do not claim to know the inner workings of her mind.”

She’s going to make him ask, isn’t she. “... was the Alliance on Voss?”

“Members of the Alliance were engaged in unrelated diplomatic negotiations with the Voss at the time, yes.”

“Which ones?”

“I am afraid that I cannot confirm those who were there - not only am I not directly affiliated with their organisation, but I will not name those who were your enemies,” she replies coolly. “I will not see you take the opportunity once you are healed to track them down and hurt them. Again.”

He winces. “I... that is not why I asked.”

“No? So you no longer wish death upon the members of the Alliance? If that’s all it took to make you change your mind, perhaps we should have dropped a ship on your head earlier.”

He growls at her. “It is not because of that!” he snaps.

“Enlighten me, then.”

He starts to pace with more determination along the coloured line, barely noticing how the movement no longer strains his core or his head. “Even after everything I have done... my mother was still there for me. I thought... I thought she had forgotten me, that she did not care. I... I do not want to disappoint her. Again.”

“What about your sister? Has she not been there for you, all this time?”

His heart aches in his chest, and he remembers the moment on the flagship where he stopped Vaylin from hurting Senya. “Vaylin made her choice. And I made mine.”

He turns to face the doctor, her dark eyes boring into him. “And what is your choice?”

A big question from someone who clearly does not particularly care for him. But maybe, just this once, he can swallow his pride and answer honestly. He needs answers from her in return after all. “Choice isn’t something I’ve really been allowed before,” he starts slowly. “I was never in a position to have what I wanted. My family... Valkorion _broke_ us. I barely even knew what I wanted.”

“Judging from your actions, you have not ‘ _known what you wanted_ ’ for several years. So, what do you want now?”

Surprisingly, he knows the answer now. “Freedom.”

Freedom to be whatever he wants, freedom from the throne, freedom from his father. Freedom to be with the people he wants to be with, freedom to choose who to spend his time with. Freedom to be with people who willingly make the choice to spend time with him.

“You know that total freedom isn’t something that you can receive, Arcann. You have caused too much death in the galaxy for that. Even Master Amell’s trust has limits.”

He frowns at her, sinking slowly into the nearby chair. “I know,” he says quietly. “But... she still believes. That’s more than anyone else has ever done. Nobody expected me to be anything. Nobody ever believed in me.”

Well, nobody except for Thexan... and he killed him. And even with the spectre of Valkorion in her head, even after everything he has personally done to her... Lieca still tried. She still reached out. On the flagship, he was so consumed with rage and pain and grief that he refused to accept it. But now, in the calm light of day... he can see that maybe she really did have nothing to gain from her actions. Maybe she did mean it.

“She was there. On Voss. She lied to her people to get there to try to help you and your mother.”

“What?”

Dia’ayla smirks. “Master Amell. She was one of those on Voss. She wanted to help - and keep going with your shoulder stretches, if you intend to stay seated.”

He blinks. “Did she heal me too?” he asks, even as he complies and lifts his new arm until it hangs level with his shoulder, the ache already starting along his side at the weight.

She shakes her head. “No. Amell has not healed on such a scale since before she was taken captive by Zakuul. She was worried she would make it worse - and particularly unwilling to allow His Esteemed Majesty to gain any foothold over you and your recovery.” Something about the way she says his father’s title makes it seem more of an insult than anything graceful, and he smiles slightly as she continues. “Thus you were left in my care. Congratulations.”

But, wait… “How did you all know that we were on Voss? If Lieca lied to her people... it wasn’t the Alliance that found us. How did you know?”

Dia’ayla’s expression is meticulously blank. “Your mother’s Voss contact is a dear friend of Amell’s. No doubt he passed on the message.”

He frowns. “That seems a rather large security risk.”

Her smile is tight. “Amell’s husband and younger sister are both talented slicers. Though I forbid you to tell either of them that.”

He wishes his heart didn’t thump in his chest at the mere mention of Calli. “Wait, husband?”

Dia’ayla nods. “Yes, they were married a short time ago. I do receive messages from them all, as I have not attempted to kill any of them recently.”

He ignores the jab. “Who else was on Voss with her?”

She sighs. “Arcann, you are far less transparent than you think. Not only can I read your expression like a book, but you are still connected to my heart monitor. I can see when your heartbeat spikes. Ask your real question or cease this line of inane questioning. I know that you are not interested in Amell’s husband, and if you are, I must inform you that you will have no luck there.”

He glares at her, feeling his face flush, but when she says nothing else he swallows his pride and asks outright. “Was Calli on Voss?”

“Yes.” He sucks in a breath and she tilts her head at him. “Why do you ask? Do you remember something?”

He can still feel the ghost of her fingers up over his scars, and he shudders. “I have... flashes of memory. But I... I did not know if they were real.”

He realises too late that he has all but admitted to thinking of Calli in his dreams, but fortunately the doctor doesn’t seem to notice - or at least, refuses to draw attention to it. “I am not entirely surprised, you were mostly unconscious when we first saw you. That you can remember anything is remarkable.”

“I remember her voice... wait, the _first_ time you saw me?”

She nods. “We were called away to fight the Exarch when he tried to stop us. Insufferable man. Callistra and her Wookiee companion remained behind. A good thing too, the Voss said that you were behaving rather irrationally until she stopped you.”

“What?” Are... are his memories real? The flutter of her fingers against his cheek, the soft whispers of encouragement in her voice... real?

_“Arcann. Please, calm down. The Voss are just trying to help.”_

“You also threw more than one pot at her head. Rather rude, all things considered. No doubt she has reconsidered offering your account to pay for your medical care.”

“What?” He doesn’t want to hurt Calli, he wouldn’t have tried to harm her. Did he not recognise her at all? Her voice in his memories… the softly accented Zakuulan he remembers...

_“Ow! You’re being an ass!”_

... did he hurt her?

Dia’ayla, apparently unaware of his internal crisis, sighs and points to his arm. “That does not come cheap, boy, and although I will heal those who require it, I draw the line at repairing lost limbs for galactic dictators pro-bono.”

He looks at his arm properly now, realising that he has been avoiding looking at it, and starts to recognise the elements woven into the design. “What? Who is paying for this?”

_“You’ve got to try to stay still. Please, Arcann. For me?”_

“You are. Your bank account details were provided to me by Callistra. Thankfully, because if I had to rely on chasing that bastard Abelli again, he would deliberately make me waste the same amount of funds on debt collectors - and Kol’s wife has refused to do the legal work of trying to catch that menace again. I do not trust any other lawyers on this planet. Now, if you wish to hold a saberstaff by the end of the week, please start your exercises again from the top. And do them properly this time.”

His head might still be spinning way too much, his heart thumping in his chest, but he nods. She obviously does not want to answer any more questions, and he has enough to think about now anyway.

The sooner he is hale and healthy, the sooner he can leave and find answers. Even if the answer is only to the question _‘what in Izak’s name am I supposed to do with the rest of my life now?’_

Or, if he’s completely honest with himself, _‘why did Calli help me?’_ is the first one he wants answered.

 

* * *

 

Calli sighs and drums her fingers on the console in front of her. There’s still a few days before her sisters are due to actually meet with Acina, but since the Imperial delegation has finally arrived planetside, she’s already been put to work. Together with T7 she’s been kept fairly busy alternating between keeping their data secure, counter the Imperial slicers that have inevitably been brought along just to try and counter _her_ in response, and trying to hack past Imperial firewalls when she can outwit the other slicers. Well, Lieca doesn’t know about that part, but Theron and Cera certainly condoned it, so they just all studiously decided not to tell her.

What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, etcetera etcetera.

Jahlia is playing the game as a neutral party, but clearly has no particular love for Acina; likewise, the Sith Empress is obviously disdainful of her errant Dark Council member, and if they weren’t both so terrifying, it’d be pretty funny to watch them snap and snarl at one another. Jahlia’s people - she doesn’t really want to say the word _cult_ , even though that’s clearly what they are - have been milling around in the middle ground, pretending to help, playing host, acting the part of the obedient servants. She has no idea what Jahlia needs a cult for, but it obviously delights her, and she’s also pretty sure that Jahlia has no idea what to do with a cult other than demand their vague adoration; it’s almost sad how pitiful their efforts were to attempt to slice the Alliance databases, and she almost takes pity on them enough to let them have a file or two.

But then she remembers how much fun it was beating Revel at cards, and she merrily thwarts every feeble attempt from there on out.

Well, Theron has technically been helping her too, but she’d rather do just about anything else than admit to him that he’s helping. He started getting a little smug earlier, and she hacked his personal datapad to reassign some of the players on his Fantasy Huttball team. No major changes, just enough to make him question it and irritate him just that tiny bit as he tried to remember when he’d moved the grid around. He might be her brother-in-law now (ugh, _thanks_ Lieca) but that’s no real defence if he’s being a tool.

The far more enjoyable aid has come from Vitalia, who has been pretty good at sending sly little coded messages to keep her from getting too bored. And supplying the drinks tab. As much as their uncle might not approve of that... well, that’s never been a reason to stop before.

And of course, her sisters’ old friend Kira has been on Nar Shaddaa for awhile now, and she’s been helping out too. She’s nowhere near as good with codes as the others, but she’s still pretty hilarious company, and she’s still way better than any of Jahlia’s cultists. Another Jedi who’s nothing like the old stuffy stereotypes.

She’s still pretty sure Kira was cheating to out-drink her though.

She groans as her headache spikes, moving her head into her hands, and Kira’s soft laughter rings out behind her. “You know, you could get that fixed up,” the far-too-cheerful Jedi says smugly.

Calli groans again. “And deal with Lieca’s speeches about how I shouldn’t have done it in the first place? No thanks, I’ll just die here. You’ve got this under control, right?”

Kira spins her double-bladed lightsaber around, the flash of gold bright enough to make her shield her eyes further. “I think I can handle myself,” she answers dryly.

It’s a few minutes before she speaks again, the hum of Kira’s lightsaber through the air strangely soothing her. It’s like when Cera is practicing. “I thought your lightsaber was green?” Calli notes curiously. “Aren’t you Jedi awful attached to the colours?”

Kira stops twirling her lightsaber around for a moment to deactivate it and reach over to tap Calli’s blaster pistol. “Oh, so that’s not a crystal Cera made for you?”

Calli scowls. “I just like the colour,” she mutters. “Did... did she make yours too?”

Kira nods. “Well, she helped me find the first few. She knew I liked green, so she used to always try to find those. But my last lightsaber got destroyed a few months back and I haven’t had a chance to get a new crystal for this one yet. It’s not as good as my old saber, but it’ll do. Still learning the balance.” She then grins cheekily. “And since _I’m_ not hungover, it’s perfectly safe to practice! Might grab your sister and show her how it’s really done, eh?”

Calli snickers and then winces at her head again. “Ugh, you Jedi and your healings. It’s not fair! You drank more than me, your hangover should be way worse!”

Kira snorts and claps her shoulder. “Calli my friend, you should really know better by now,” she says teasingly. “Now, if you stop complaining I’ll buy you some food from the market. Whataya want?”

“A new head,” she whines.

Kira nods solemnly. “Alright, a head of cabbage for Calli. Teeseven, you need anything?”

The droid beeps quickly, and Calli glares at her. “Yeah, I’m with Tee. Get me a cabbage and I’ll stuff it in your face. Fried food only. Tons of it. And three new dataspikes, these last ones are too flimsy.”

Kira mock-salutes. “I’ll see if I can find any gossip about the Imps too. Their fashion kinda stands out down here.” She adopts a flamboyant pose. “This season - where spikes are couture!”

 

* * *

 

Arcann winces as Dia’ayla’s staff clips him on the back of the head, momentarily distracted from the training droid. “Ow!”

She tsks at him. “You’re still tensing your shoulder at the height. Do it again.”

He’s not entirely sure how long it’s been since he woke up - without the regimented schedule of the Throne, he seems to be losing track of the days - but the doctors have not needed to calibrate his implants in some time now, and his balance has improved significantly. Dia’ayla has finally allowed him to train again, confident enough in his recovery that the strain won’t be too much for him to handle, and he can’t admit what a relief it is.

He was a child bred for war, fighting is all he knows. It’s something familiar in this world where he doesn’t know what he’s doing or who he is anymore. It’s harder to stress about his place in the world and his future and what it all means when he can focus on a droid and a wooden staff.

He was evidently distracted too long, as the droid suddenly zaps him across the knuckles and he growls and tries to push it across the room. But Dia’ayla catches the droid before it moves, and he guiltily turns to face her.

“Do not try that again,” she says warningly, dark eyes narrowed. It was easy to forget how physically imposing she is when she was sitting down and instructing him, but now that she is standing it’s hard not to feel intimidated. He had briefly met a Mandalorian acquaintance of hers a few days ago, the mountain of a woman enough to almost make him embarrass himself. Well, embarrass himself _further_ than being the _former_ Emperor of the galaxy listening to a mere unaffiliated doctor.

But if he’s honest with himself, he’s so tired of the throne and the pressure it causes. And if he concentrates, he can’t feel flickers of Father at all, and that freedom is almost enough to make him want to cry. It’s been _years_ since he’s felt this removed from his father’s presence. It’s bizarre and it’s giddy- he feels so light that he could float, but at the same time, he worries if he might not just drift away, untethered.

He suddenly remembers Lieca’s message, back when he was still Emperor, and her suspicion that part of Valkorion may remain tied to part of the palace. She might actually have been right.

And thinking of the Jedi makes something inside him ache, a flicker of emotion that feels warm and familiar; he knows it’s her, and the bond that they share. He tried to fight it for as long as he could, but he had finally realised on his ship, facing her and her sister, that the connection between them could no longer be denied. There was too much evidence to the contrary, and he knows as surely as he knows his own heart that he and Lieca are bonded through the Force. So many strange feelings over the last months make sense when he considers that connection - especially the strange moods he experienced when speaking to the Amell sisters. He had not realised it was Lieca’s emotions at the time, but now that he knows a connection exists, her presence is unmistakable.

It’s nowhere near as strong as his childhood connection with Thexan, but he can still feel her out there, as though she’s a part of him. He finds himself smiling at the strangest times, the flickering echo of her own joy. He feels comforted by her presence, and then unsettled by the fact that he draws comfort from her. She would never feel the same way about him, for example, so he is hardly going to grow accustomed to such a bond. After all, he has proof that the connection isn’t as strong as the one he had shared with Thexan in childhood - it’s so uncomfortably vague and shadowy, with nothing clear or precise for him to latch onto. For example, currently it feels like she is in two different places at once, which is absolutely absurd. He supposes he might be feeling the echo of her bond with _her_ twin (which doesn’t make his chest ache with jealousy and longing at all, no) - but that explanation doesn’t feel quite right. For one thing, the echo doesn’t feel precisely in sync with Lieca, but it _does_ feel in sync with him.

He hates Force bonds.

Dia’ayla can also apparently sense that he is distracted, as she suddenly strikes him again, and this time her own wooden saber catches him across his good shoulder. “Arcann! Pay attention!”

He growls and pivots to block her next strike, feeling something strange at the approval in her eyes. “Much better. You defended properly this time, your neck isn’t tense at all. Do that again.”

His head suddenly spins and she frowns. “Or, listen to the signs of your body and sit down for a moment,” she corrects, tone dry. “Do not push yourself too hard.”

He shakes his head, forcing himself to stay upright. “No, I am fine-” he starts through gritted teeth.

But she’s having none of it. “Sit. Down,” she snaps, glaring at him until he growls at her and reluctantly sits down. “Honestly, you Tiralls are so reckless. It’s a wonder you get anything done.”

“I am not reckless,” he mutters, looking at the ground until the world stops spinning.

She doesn’t say anything, and when he looks up she’s merely staring at him. It’s actually mildly uncomfortable, and he quickly looks away. “I am not!”

“Yes of course, you have convinced me,” she notes dryly. “Recklessness clearly isn’t a family trait at all, no matter the unending proof to the contrary. I will be sure to tell Senya that her granddaughter dive-bombing her from the second level of the docking bay was definitely in both of their best interests.”

Wait, granddaughter? But neither he or Vaylin have children…

The Alliance pretender. The _fake_ Thexan. No matter how much he _hopes_.

His heart squeezes. “You speak of the child of the one pretending to be my brother.”

Dia’ayla actually pauses. “I do not think that this particular conversation should be with me,” she says eventually. “We try each other’s patience enough as it is.”

He feels a little insulted, even as his heart keeps hammering in his chest. “Excuse me?”

She merely raises her brow at him. “Are you really going to argue that?” she asks dryly. “Your distaste for your confinement here is obvious. Kindly don’t bother pretending otherwise, it is a waste of both of our times.”

He grumpily concedes the point. His head is spinning enough without thinking of Thexan and how he broke the best thing in his life.

One thing at a time.

Maybe Dia’ayla will tell him more about the Alliance if he succeeds at his recovery. The few reports he’s seen so far aren’t enough to figure out what’s happening. And he probably owes them a significant debt for his life. It’s as logical a step as any.

And then maybe, just maybe, he can find out where Calli is.

 

* * *

 

Acina and her entourage are already in the warehouse by the time Lieca and her people arrive to meet with her. To her left, Jahlia mutters something about needing to make a grand entrance for ‘ _that trollop on the throne_ ’, and to her right, Cera hides a giggle as Lieca pretends not to notice and brushes down her skirts demurely. A warehouse in the lower industrial sector of Nar Shaddaa is not exactly the most ideal location for any of them in this situation - it reeks of espionage and backhanded deals, which Lieca despises, and she knows for certain that Acina is grossly dissatisfied in having to lower herself to not only visit Neutral Space, but also to visit a warehouse. A _warehouse_.

If Lieca had known the suggestion would be so distasteful, she might’ve tried harder to convince the others that somewhere more genteel would be more suitable, like a hotel penthouse maybe or a different (and cleaner) neutral world like Manaan. She didn’t want to start these negotiations on the wrong foot, after all.

Andronikos and Theron are behind the three Force users, wearing matching grumpy expressions at the formalwear their wives have forced them into. Lieca had attempted to convince them of the benefits of showing a united formal front, and Andronikos had caved before she’d even really got going, grumbling about earnest Jedi. Jahlia had only laughed at him, already elegantly wrapped in some imposing armour with gleaming pink-purple lines down the front that remind her of the lightning the Sith let dance around her fingertips when bored.

Theron, of course, was even easier to persuade, but she’s not exactly about to go and kiss Jahlia’s husband to persuade him the same way. That would be awkward for everyone involved. Best to avoid.

The Force is shooting some sort of warning down her spine, and she’s not certain if it’s related to this particular endeavour or... something else. Certainly Nar Shaddaa is a seething mess of energy at the best of times, overflowing with people looking to indulge their darker whims, but today the Force seems pulled taut like a thread about to snap. But then Cera links her arm through hers and smiles, and it feels a little less overwhelming with her sister at her side. And of course, Jahlia’s strong presence at her other side helps too. The Sith might play at boredom and snide insults, but she is also fiercely loyal and will not allow any harm to come to them.

She can also feel Theron’s light touch on her lower back, and surrounded by those she loves, she takes a deep breath and pushes the doors open.

The Sith Empress is already seated in the extravagant chair at the other end of the room at the head of the long table. Jahlia had arranged the room to suit Sith sensibilities, but also to deny the usual pomp and circumstance - no dramatic waltzing down the stairs and starting at a definite height advantage like the Dark Council usually prefers. Lieca was even a little concerned with how gleefully Jahlia denied Acina her usual practice of quiet intimidation, making sure that the room was brightly illuminated.

She’d never thought she’d say this, but there was apparently such a thing as too much light - her eyes are already watering from the sheer number of lamps Jahlia has collected to light the venue.

But no matter. Acina looks over at them as they enter, smoothly rising out of her chair to greet them. She looks both elegant and understated, her appearance both flattering and functional, with her hair neatly tied back and the various armour pieces woven into her clothing. She stops just beside her chair in parade rest, her hands behind her back. “Welcome, Masters Amell. And Darth Imperius, how wonderful to see you remember your duties at last.”

Their delegation stops beside the other end of the table, and Jahlia smiles with a flash of teeth, the dark makeup over her eyes making her stare far more impressive. “Empress Acina, a pleasure,” she responds, her tone equal to Acina’s.

Lieca and Cera both nod their heads politely - they may not be in the Sith hierarchy at all, but politeness hurts no-one. Graciousness cannot be used to signify their acknowledgement of Acina as their superior when they do not bow or kneel. “Empress Acina,” both twins murmur softly.

As the one who requested the meeting, it’s only natural for Acina to go first. “Did you ever expect the Sith Empress to negotiate with Jedi?” she asks, a hint of humour in her voice.

It’s enough to throw Lieca slightly, but she can see the telltale sign of trying to ease tensions. “I hope we are all able to move beyond the unfair prejudices of our mutual organisations,” she answers politely. Considering her closest friends count both Sith and Jedi amongst their numbers, Acina’s words ring a little too false for comfort.

Acina nods back. “A respectful meeting, despite our differences, will go a long way towards easing tensions,” she observes. “No doubt we have already well researched the others’ compatriots - unless you need introductions?”

Lieca shakes her head. “Not at all. Darth Vowrawn,” she says, nodding at the Sith to Acina’s left before looking to the one on her right. “Darth Obcaecus.”

The Sith Pureblood and Miraluka nod back, and she hides a smile at the way Obcaecus lingers closer to her wife.

Jahlia nods at her fellow Sith also, apparently torn between playing her role as the neutral party and being her usual tormenting self when she grins again. “And Lorman, of course.”

The Imperial officer standing behind Acina visibly puffs up at that. “It’s _Minister_ Lorman, Darth Imperius,” he snaps, before flinching back when she bares her teeth at him.

Jahlia raises an eyebrow. “Of course. I’m so sorry the Minister of War and the Minister of Intelligence could not make it,” she says, her tone anything but apologetic.

Acina’s tone is definitely icy. “They were otherwise detained on matters of Imperial security. You understand, the Eternal Empire threatens us all.”

Jahlia seems about to speak again and Lieca quickly cuts her off. “Of course we understand,” she says, gesturing for them all to take seats around the table. Cera sits to her left, and Jahlia almost reluctantly takes the seat to her right; the rest of the party settle in as well. “That is the reason that we meet. And, I have been meaning to thank you in person for your aid on Voss. Although it was obviously for your allies among the Voss rather than for us, we still benefited from your aid. No doubt the Voss have remained very grateful to you.”

Acina also raises an eyebrow, but apparently decides to accept the segue. “We have chafed under the rule of the Eternal Empire for too long. They are weakened under Vaylin’s unsteady leadership. Now is the time to act.”

Cera seems a little too amused to let that slide. “By secretly allying with a faction that is not bound by Zakuulan edict?” she says politely. “Therefore ensuring that the Empire is still technically bound by Zakuulan sanctions?”

Acina frowns. “It is no secret that the Empire cannot hope to match the might of Zakuul alone,” she says reluctantly. “Especially with the Republic harrying our borders.”

Lorman makes a strange noise behind the Empress. “Empress, I urge you not to be so critical of the Empire,” he wheedles. “We are a mighty culture with strengths that outsiders do not understand.”

Acina barely acknowledges the remark, gaze sliding back to Lieca. “Are you prepared to help us? Or are you still determined to remain ‘ _neutral_ ’, as it were?”

That’s a little more upfront than she was expecting. “We have reached out to the Republic as well. The cessation of hostilities would greatly free up both factions to defend against Zakuul,” she starts slowly. “Peace cannot be achieved while we all concentrate on fighting each other.”

Acina frowns again. “Platitudes and wishes of peace are less useful in war, Master Jedi. It is obvious that you and yours are focused on the Eternal Throne. With the Republic at our doorstep, that focus cannot be matched despite our superiority. So, what do you suggest?”

“I-”

But any further words are cut off when the power suddenly blacks out, and Lieca jumps as the generator on the roof suddenly explodes and crashes down to where she had been standing a few minutes ago. Each Force user in the room immediately lunges to their feet, drawing lightsabers from belts and sheaths; the multi-coloured weapons provide vaguely useful amounts of light, even if the pure red emanating from the other side of the room does make her slightly uneasy.

“What is the meaning of this?” Acina demands, her voice echoing in the mostly-dark room.

Lieca immediately moves to construct a Force shield around her people, and it’s Jahlia who responds. “What do you mean, is this not _your_ doing?” she snaps back.

Cera has already pulled out her holocom, ignoring the two arguing Sith in the background. “Kira! What the hell is going on?”

Kira does not answer, but her little astromech shows up instead. _“Cera = safe?”_

“Teeseven? What’s going on?”

Lieca winces, the Force starting to set off alarm bells in her head as she looks back the way they came. Did they lock the door on the way in? Why is her shoulder hurting so much?

_“T7 + team = under attack! Enemies = GenoHaradan? T7 = trying to fix the warehouse.”_

Cera looks at her instantly, her own horror matched in her twin’s expression. “Under attack?”

Andronikos growls, making her jump a little. “GenoHaradan? That fucking Republic death cult? I thought they died out.”

Cera scowls, twirling her lightsaber. “Well I’ll be sure to tell them that in a minute,” she snaps. “Brace yourselves folks!”

_“T7 = nearly there. Lights = … fixed!”_

The lights flicker on again - to reveal a significantly larger number of people in the room, surrounding both factions.

They all stand there in silence for a moment, the attackers obviously not expecting the lights to be restored so quickly, and Lieca notices with a sudden burst of terror that one of them has their blaster aimed directly at Theron’s head.

She moves instantly to throw them back with the Force, sending several nearby attackers stumbling on their feet, and the dam breaks as the battle is joined.

Acina snarls gleefully as her lightning dances across the room, and Jahlia joins her as soon as she’s thrown Lorman into the wall. Cera pouts as she’s deflecting blaster bolts, redirecting one towards the idiot trying to shoot Andronikos. “No fair! I wanted to do that!”

“Too slow Jedi!” Jahlia responds, her own lightsaber curving around the room in a flash of bright purple before her lightning arcs to follow it.

Lieca smiles tightly as she throws the nearby chair into the attacker aiming at Acina, feeling relieved at the sensation of Theron wisely taking cover behind her, but she can’t help but worry about the others.

T7 said they were under attack... is Kira enough to hold them off?

Is Calli alright?

 

* * *

 

Calli shrieks and dives away from the console she was using as cover just as it explodes in a shower of sparks.

This was supposed to be an easy job! But nooooo, now some fucking creepy leather-clad assassin fucking death cult or some shit show up. She was having a lovely day, damnit!

The little warehouse they were using as their remote base of operations - near enough to where the Big Fancy Meeting was taking place without it being obvious that they had an outpost here - should have been fucking secure, _damnit_. They’d only had about thirty seconds warning before the place was under attack. Kira had attempted to reason with them for a brief second, but as soon as they said the name GenoHaradan, all bets were off. They’d expected something dirty from the Imperials, possibly, like maybe a Cipher hit squad, but nothing like this. They’d expected Lorman to tattle on them to Saresh, and possibly see repercussions from that.

They hadn’t expected over three dozen of the galaxy’s most highly trained assassins.

Thankfully, the SIS agents hadn’t been too far off - skirting the block on a now pointless reconnaissance run -, and she remembers the flash of Vitalia’s grin as she kicked the door down, shortly before some fucking asshole had managed to get in a lucky shot and graze her side.

Most of the fighting has been directed away from her and T7 as they desperately try to reconnect the security protocols - especially after T7 beeped wildly that her sisters were under attack inside the warehouse too. Her heart is still thumping wildly in her chest at that, but they’re Jedi. They’ll be alright. She shouldn’t worry about them.

She should be more worried about herself.

Some creeps managed to break past the entrance and storm the stairs, heading for where she was desperately working on getting the building into lockdown; knowing her luck, there’d be another three dozen outside just waiting for their chance to get in, and she wasn’t so vain that she wanted to test herself against bloodthirsty assassins any more than she absolutely had to. Preferably never, would be her first choice, but hey - when had things ever gone the way she wanted it to? They came thundering up the stairs, boots clattering gracelessly on the metal floors, and even as Calli fumbled to try and crawl further behind the console out of sight, T7 bravely launched himself with a squeal and a series of beeps that really made her question what sort of language he was picking up from those terminals on Zakuul; from where she crouched, she heard a surprised shout and a huge clattering thud as the assassins went tumbling backwards down the stairs - nobody really ever expects to be hit by a droid flying through the air, but she’s gotta admit it’s damned effective.

But it’s not enough, and before she’s ready, there’s another shadow storming up the stairs towards her - and this motherfucker has a lightsaber. Why the _fuck_ did she get the one with a _fucking lightsaber_? Didn’t Kira already get all of those?

Well fuckity fuck. Her shields are depleted, her blaster is still somewhere across the room, and she has nothing left to bring to this fight. Her side is killing her, the burn from the earlier lucky blaster bolt still throbbing through her whole body, and this fucking Genohawhatsit assassin piece of shit is still advancing on her like she’s still an actual threat.

Her ankle aches and buckles under her when she tries to scramble away, falling on her ass with a muffled cry. And the faceless goon keeps walking slowly closer, still holding out their lightsaber. Are they just being dramatic or is her life flashing before her eyes making them just seem slower? Somehow, even at what could possibly be the end of everything, she still has enough spirit to be offended that this jackass is going to kill her for no reason. Fucking assassins.

Everything hurts and she’s more than a little terrified, but she won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing that. Every second they’re here with her is one second more for Kira to break free of the guards she’s clearly fighting across the room, judging from the lightsaber clashes she can hear, and make her way to Lieca and the others.

As long as her sisters survive, it’ll be worth it. Right?

The goon is almost close enough to strike her, and she’s so angry that it could end like this - and angry at herself for wishing that Kira will move to defend her instead of her sisters. She doesn’t want to die here. “Fuck you,” she snarls, tears absolutely not in her eyes as she tries to shuffle backwards, her injured ankle screaming at the strain.

But these assholes don’t care, do they? They just want her dead. For no fucking reason apparently.

Hopefully it doesn’t hurt.

And cause this fucker is clearly a smarmy asshole they have to rub it in. “Nothing personal,” they sneer, actually fucking lifting their lightsaber up above their head instead of just killing her and getting it over with. Like they’ve watched too many early morning cartoon villains, and the thought is almost enough to make her giggle hysterically.

But as their lightsaber comes crashing down, a yellow lightsaber blocks it’s path and her laughter turns to sobs of relief that Kira came back for her.

It takes a moment to realise that that’s not Kira’s lightsaber.

And that’s certainly not Kira.

_“Arcann?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys didn't think I'd make you wait til the palace party chapter did you? :P 
> 
> Kol'aya Torr belongs to Defira (happily married to a Nautolan lawyer in this universe), as does the briefly mentioned Ysaine Pierce as the Mandalorian whose height intimidates Arcann haha. Darth Obcaecus belongs to thegingerjedi and runs the Sphere of Biotic Science when she's not smooching her wife Acina.


	30. Reunions II

_Earlier that day…_

Arcann growls grumpily at the training droid as it deflects his strike again. The droid Dia’ayla uses is far less sophisticated than the ones he used back in the palace, but still manages to surprise him with its unconventional tactics.

The twi’lek doctor had haughtily pointed out it might just have been awhile since he bothered to accept a challenge for a change, but he had ignored her.

She does not tend to spend her entire day in this suite - since his recovery is relatively under control, other than his general endurance and returning his body to some semblance of fitness, she apparently does not need to constantly watch over him. He has not asked, and she hasn’t volunteered, but he assumes she spends the rest of her day with other patients at the clinic she works out. Maybe her aunt’s, judging from her vague comments? Or someone in her family at least; he’s not entirely sure who she works for when she isn’t annoying him. That would require more conversation about personal matters than either of them seem comfortable with.

A significant part of him is curious about what will happen when she deems him well enough to leave this place - is she holding him here as a prisoner for the Alliance? Will they come for him? Will _anyone_ come for him? Do they just want him to send him back to Zakuul? Or will they just turn him out onto the street, penniless and directionless and without a hope of knowing what to do with himself? If so, why would they bother healing him?

Surely it would have been simpler for them all to just leave him to die. Then they wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him, or bother returning him to health just to leave him to rot in prison. He has come to the conclusion that he certainly does not like the idea of prison. The Throne might have felt like a prison at times but he’s not entirely stupid - he knows that any _actual_ prison would be a lot less generous and considerate of his feelings. Significantly less parties, for one.

A flash of memory of Calli smiling at another partygoer in her glittering green dress makes him grunt in annoyance, swatting at the droid again with a little more force than necessary. Maybe the lack of parties wouldn’t be such a bad thing. As much as he kind of wishes to see Calli again, he doesn’t want that sort of complication with anyone else. The confusion that Calli inflicts on his thoughts is enough, he doesn’t need more of it.

Dia’ayla suddenly laughs, and it’s enough to break his concentration, gesturing angrily at the droid to cease after it shoots a jolt of electricity at his robotic elbow. “What is it?” he says, turning around to face her.

She still seems amused as she swivels in her chair, and he notes again that she looks much younger when she’s actually happy, even with the lines at the corners of her eyes. If he had to guess, considering his lack of information about her personally, he would place her at least a decade his senior, though even he knows better than to infer anything out loud about a woman’s age. “An old friend is providing amusing commentary on her day,” she says dryly. “Jahlia has a flair for the dramatic that I have yet to see matched in any other.”

He frowns, sifting through his accumulated knowledge about the Sith Empire. It’s much harder than it used to be, without the endless recitations of facts drilled into his head by his father and his tutors, but he can still remember something… “Jahlia... Kallig? Darth Imperius?”

She nods without even a trace of surprise. “Yes, a correct assumption. I knew Jahlia before she entered the Sith Academy, and we have kept in touch throughout the years since. I think perhaps she wished to complain to a friend that was nearby, as though I have any say in the matter. Her commentary on current events is entertaining.”

His frown deepens, and he tilts his head to try to see her screen. “Darth Imperius is here?” he asks, as Dia’ayla very obviously turns the screen away from him. “Why is she here, this is not Dromund Kaas. And I find it extremely unlikely that her unknown home just _happens_ to be near where your clinic is based.”

Dia’ayla sighs and stands up again; he catches her roll her eyes, and he knows he must be onto something. “You are correct that this is not Dromund Kaas, nor her home,” she says smoothly, but with the clipped tones he has come to associate with irritation. “Though she does have a house here-”

“Where is here?”

“As it turns out, Jahlia is assisting with Alliance business, actually,” she continues, ignoring the question. “She is keeping me informed in case my services are required.”

Ah. That certainly explains the echo he can feel through the Force. Lieca must be here for this mysterious Alliance business, her presence shining much brighter than it has since he first acknowledged their bond.

Maybe... maybe Calli is here as well.

Dia’ayla suddenly huffs. “Calm yourself,” she says, sounding amused. “Just because I no longer medically monitor your heartbeat does not mean that your expressions are a mystery to me.”

He feels his cheeks _burn_.

Before he can even begin to respond to that, her console beeps and she sighs before turning to it and activating it. “Dia’ayla.”

A rather panicked woman’s voice responds. “ _Dia! Oh thank goodness - you’re needed in the clinic right now! The Cartel has sent over some people and the Mandalorians didn’t like that and please, Elsie needs your help!”_

Dia’ayla breathes through her nose rather forcefully. “I will be right there,” she says shortly, deactivating the comm and turning back to face him. “Continue with exercise rotations three through seven and then sit down for fifteen minutes before attempting to spar with the droid again. I will know if you have not done this. I shall be back when I have dealt with these imbeciles.”

She sweeps out of the room before he has a chance to respond, clipping her lightsaber to her belt as she goes. He doesn’t exactly envy the people she’s going to ‘ _deal with_ ’ - the woman is vaguely terrifying when she’s in a _good_ mood.

... and apparently unconcerned with security, as she left her terminal on in her haste to leave. He’s only a little curious about what amused the stoic twi’lek so much - he’s mostly interested in what the Alliance might be up to, and what planet it is that he’s being held on. Feeling a little bit like a gleeful truant, he slides over to her comm terminal. It’s a significantly less advanced model than those he is used to in the palace at home, but not so different that he cannot figure out how to use it. It’s the work of moments to find her messages to and from Darth Imperius, especially as they are still open on the screen.

Huh. Apparently Imperius is far less formal than his reports had led him to believe. Though if he’s reading her notes correctly, they are certainly not intended as private messages for Dia’ayla, as they seem to be more generally addressed to a wider audience and over the last few days in particular.  

_Apparently having sex in one’s own kitchen is frowned upon. Can’t wait til these people leave! #itsmyhousedamnit #thisiswhy #jedicanthavenicethings #sexwouldbegoodforheriswear #shanisterribleatsex #passiton_

_And apparently my feed is being monitored by uptight bastards. #ugh #fine #men #ridiculous #hesnotthatbad #apparently #idontwanttoknow #hesyourhusband #youbanghim_

_Nikki made a good lunch today. I really must thank him. Immediately. #husband #vacation #thisisthelife #imgettinglaid #yourealljustjealous_

_Trying to find specific warehouses here is like trying to find an intelligent lifeform on the Council #thanaton #ha #stillfunny #imnotafraidtosayit #yeahimeanyoutooacina #kisses #okmaybezaireyi #luvyababe_

_Took great delight in purchasing extravagant lanterns on Imperial credits. Can’t wait to see Acina’s face! #sith #decorating #sithaesthetic #nostaircases #nothrones #nodarkcorners #cackling #isthedayoveryet #sphereofillumination #sphereofancientknowledge_

_What snacks should we serve today? #food #tastebuds #sigh #dojedievenhavetastebuds #isflavourtoopassionateforthem #yesiseeyoureadingovermyshoulder #noidontcare #nosithjustdontdrinkblood #ew #ihavetaste #justbecauseyoudont #PUTTHESPICEDOWNSHAN_

_Waiting for her Most Royal Imperial Majesty Whatever to finally show her face. This is why I avoid Council meetings. #bored #sith #ihateacina #whyisthistakingsolong_

_Maybe we will be under attack soon after all. Intelligence all in an uproar over something #fucklorman #exceptdont #hesdefinitelyterrible #but #honestly #whyishehere #whycantistabhim #thisdayisterrible #lightning #soclose_

_At least the clinic is close? No tracking blood on the carpets guys #letsnotgetstabbed #imtooprettyforthis #ugh #lightning #soclose #gettingdrunkafter_

_And about to get started. #hooray #soexcited #not #ridiculous #dramaticentrance #morelights_

What? The Alliance is meeting with the Sith Empress Acina on... Nar Shaddaa, he’d wager? If he didn’t already know that both Imperius and the Alliance were in the same place, apparently not too far from where he is now, he might not have made that connection. The way that Imperius writes is... _confusing_ , to say the least. Combining all the words into one just makes it hard to read, and he doesn’t entirely understand the point of doing so.

The mere suggestion that their meeting might be at risk of coming under attack causes a shiver of dread to run down his spine, and he realises he is actually a little worried. Regardless of what the Alliance wishes to do with him, he’s not entirely an idiot, and he knows that Lieca is one of the few who would even bother to treat him respectfully, let alone keep him alive.

Well, assuming her sisters haven’t finally made her realise that he is not worth her time.

He winces and looks back to the console to distract himself, realising that Dia’ayla has a new message. Which, judging from the attached alerts and the fact it opens immediately when he brushes his fingers over the screen, implies some sort of emergency.

 _[URGENT] Dia! Can’t reach NE1 inside, comms jammed. Fucking_ GenoHaradan _on our fucking tail, might not get to warehouse 1st. U r closer than me - can u make it? Worried about Calli et al. Lieca n co will b able to handle thmslvs, but slicers r sitting orochicks. Lmk as soon as u leave! Coordinates att’d._

_~~~~Vitalia_

His blood runs cold. GenoHaradan? The mythical Republic assassins guild?

 _Calli needs help_.

He has no idea how far away Dia’ayla is. What if she’s not back in time?

 

* * *

 

Calli’s pretty damn sure her heart stopped for a moment there, not only at her _near death experience_ but also at the sudden appearance of her rescuer.

 _Arcann fucking Tirall_.

She’s not sure whether she’s relieved it wasn’t Thexan so that she didn’t embarrass herself by calling his brother’s name first, or horrified that it was Arcann as _he is supposed to be bed-ridden and nowhere near her thank you very much_.

But no, no matter how much her brain is currently failing to process anything, that’s definitely the Zakuulan ex-Emperor with his lightsaber out in her defence. He might have the same face and overall build as his brother, but there’s no mistaking those scars or the robotic arm peeking out of the sleeve of his plain brown robes. Ugh, he’s not allowed to still look good even when he’s not in his fancy Zakuulan armour and stuff.

Not to mention his hair is different - instead of Thexan’s longer, darker locks, Arcann has a patch of blonde fuzz on his head, obviously from weeks without shaving, and she suddenly wants to run her fingers over his head to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

Luckily, before she can possibly act on that inane impulse, Arcann moves with ruthless efficiency to dispatch the person trying to harm her. The assassin was obviously not expecting resistance, and Arcann kills him in barely a moment.

He’s still facing away from her as he stows his lightsaber, and she realises the only other sounds of combat that she can hear sound much further away, as though everyone nearby had already been dealt with.

So she’s down the faceless assassin goons and gained an Arcann.

What the fuck has she done so wrong in her life to deserve this??? This isn’t allowed!!

He’s supposed to be recovering damnit! Not being here with unfairly pretty _blue_ eyes and even with clear weight loss from his weeks of recuperation he looks _good_ and woooooow brain, that’s such an inappropriate thing to focus on _ugh_.

“Calli? Are you alright?”

Her thoughts crash to a halt as she realises Arcann has turned back to face her, and the focused blue of his eyes as he watches her is almost enough to take her breath away. It should be illegal for someone to look that good when literally saving her life, and she’s definitely not swooning and she’s going to be polite and dismissive and- “What are you doing here?” she asks shrilly.

Good start Calli, just shriek at the man. Wonderful. Perfect. Everything is just fucking dandy right now.

He frowns, the light in his eyes fading a little. “I would think it fairly self-evident that I was saving your life,” he answers gruffly.

She glares at him. “You’re not supposed to be here!” He’s supposed to be fucking miles away in Dia’s clinic all sedated and being fixed up and _not anywhere near her when his fucking blue eyes keep watching her._

There’s a weird tick in his jaw as he watches her, as though he’s holding himself back from saying something. “Would you rather I wasn’t?”

“I-look, whatever, but Dia’s gonna fucking kill you. You’re not supposed to be out! She’s still fixing you!”

He coughs, and for the first time she notices how vaguely unsteady he looks on his feet. “Your concern is noted,” he says quietly.

She stiffens. “It’s not concern! It’s, it’s... it’s just not! Hrmph! But fucking sit down, you look like you’re going to pass out!”

They stay there in silence for a moment while she folds her arms and pretends not to notice him because _why isn’t the ground fucking swallowing her up already_ and Arcann eventually shuffles awkwardly before looking at her again. “Do you need help getting up?” he asks politely.

She stares at his offered hand and feels herself flush with memories of the first night they met, when he stood over her at a party and laughed quietly and offered to help her stand. This is all kinds of fucking surreal and-

“-CALLI!”

She just about jumps out of her skin at Kira’s bellow, and they both turn to the door to see the pale-faced Jedi surging into the doorframe like living lightning. She stiffens for a moment at the sight of someone standing over her, but seems to gauge the situation as non threatening. “Oh thank the Force you’re alright!” she says, clearly relieved as she stows her own lightsaber; her hair is slick with sweat and her chest is heaving from the battle. “I was worried... huh? Thexan?”

Arcann winces and Kira’s eyes suddenly widen. “Woah woah, what the fuck! You’re not Thexan! Bad Thexan! What the fuck?!”

Arcann sighs, raising his hands in the air, and she wishes she hadn’t noticed the way he flinched at Kira’s words. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he says grumpily.

Kira turns wild eyes to her. “Calli, what the fuck is this?”

She shrugs helplessly. “Does it look like I know?”

Kira stomps over to them, still warily watching Arcann. “I don’t know babe, you seem oddly comfortable with this situation!”

“Well maybe I’m just fucking glad to be _alive_ , Kira. And don’t pretend like you didn’t know he was here, I saw the message Lieca sent you!”

Kira frowns. “Yeah, but there’s a difference between being _somewhere_ on the gigantic moon of Nar Shaddaa and being right here, in the room, in the same warehouse as us!” she snaps, before addressing Arcann. “Dia’s gonna kill you.”

Arcann sighs. “So I have heard,” he mutters, his hand still held out to help Calli up. “Perhaps she won’t, as it would undo the effort she has undertaken over the last several weeks.” 

She realises that Kira is looking at her with _that_ look, and fucking hell, more people that _know_ what was up with her and Arcann; she flushes. Determined not to make a big deal out of it, she huffs and grabs his hand to pull herself up, not at all impressed by how easily he helps her to her feet. And not at all thinking about how warm his hand was, and how she kinda felt a little jolt of something when she touched him that wasn’t just a flash of memory of how good his hands felt on her and nooooo, brain, this is _not happening_. Not at all.

Except she was so consumed at the idea of not making a big deal out of touching him, like some stupid lovesick teenager _ugh_ , that she kinda forgot about her ankle, and the moment she puts pressure on it she curses and stumbles. And because fate absolutely hates her fucking guts, she stumbles right into Arcann’s chest and she’s pretty sure she actually squeaked when she hit him.

Okay, wow, even though he’s clearly lost muscle while recovering, he’s still pretty impressive and he’s all warm and solid and she’s hopefully going to die of embarrassment any second.

 _Any second now_.

Luckily for her when she tried to leap back she’s steadied by Kira, who could not look more gleeful if she tried, and Calli wonders about the best way to shut her up. “How’s- how’s everyone else?” she says quickly, ignoring how squeaky her voice is.

Kira sounds intensely amused. “A little less clumsy, but otherwise good,” she says, clearly almost cackling. “Teeseven has everyone else under control. But if your ankle’s bothering you, we need to get that wrapped up. Unless... Arcann wants to carry you?”

Well, there’s her proof that Kira definitely knows what’s up, because no sane person not in-the-know would suggest that as an option. He’s the fucking ex-dictator of the entire galaxy, for crying out loud! Nobody should trust him to carry her around! Not that she wants him to, at all!

Calli all but shrieks as Arcann automatically slides his hands down to lift her up. “NO!” she squeals, batting his hands away. “No, that’s fine. Kira, I’m not making the fucking invalid carry me around okay, I don’t want to get dropped on my head!”

Arcann looks a little offended, his cheeks a soft pink. Probably from the earlier exertion rather than any embarrassment, let’s be real here, as if he cares about her opinion. “I would not drop you on your head,” he says crossly. “And it seems strange for you to suggest that as an option, considering who I am.”

Kira raises an eyebrow. “What, the big bad scary ex-Emperor? Yeah, okay. Too good to help us, is that what you’re saying? Wow, way to make amends.”

He frowns. “That is not what I meant. I meant it is strange for you to trust me with so important a task. I have not exactly been helpful to you in the past.”

Kira seems way too delighted as she turns to face her, moving her arm across her shoulders. “Aw, you hear that Cal? Arcann think you’re important!”

If looks could kill, Kira would hopefully explode on the spot. She’d take falling on her face to end this embarrassment. “Kira!” she squawks. “Oh my fucking gods can we just go? Where is everyone else? You know, with the whole DEATH SQUAD trying to kill us all? Please, _please_ let’s just focus on that.”

She nearly fucking _dies_ and then her friends want to just embarrass her to death; this is just great.

Kira shrugs. “Your sisters are fine, and on the way to us actually. How ‘bout you ring Dia and let her know about bozo here while we wait? So at least we don’t have her on our tail too.”

She glares at her, and Kira uses the Force to pull over a chair for her to sit on. As soon as she’s settled, with another chair pulled over to elevate her ankle, Kira moves off to wait by the door, lightsaber in hand again. It’s probably more in warning to Arcann against doing anything else colossally stupid than to any attacking enemies, but hey.

She grumpily pulls out her comm, studiously ignoring Arcann still awkwardly standing such a short distance away. “Dia? It’s Calli. You there?”

Dia’s image appears almost instantly, standing there scowling with her arms folded and her expression set. “ _Callistra. I suspected Arcann would be with you_.”

She blinks. “What? But I didn’t say anything!”

Dia sighs. “ _There is only three places he would go. The Zakuulan embassy, to your sister, or to you. As you are calling me, I can rather safely infer he went to you. I assume you are at the same coordinates Abelli gave me earlier? I will be there shortly. Goodbye."_

And with that the comm cuts out and she blinks in confusion.

Arcann makes an odd noise to her left. “Ah. So... is she like that with everyone?”

She glares at him. “Yeah, and she’s gonna fucking blame me, I’m sure of it. So what the fuck are you gonna do now?”

He frowns again, crossing his arms almost self consciously. “I’m sorry?”

She waves her hand, significantly annoyed to be having this conversation while she’s sitting down, as though she would be anymore intimidating standing up when she’s so much shorter than him. “You just... run out on Dia to come over here to stab some idiots and just... now what? What are you going to do now?”

He stares at her, looking more than a little confused, and she growls at him. It’s easier to be angry than think about any other feelings she’s got going on right now. “If you’re just waiting for my sister to show up so you can hurt her again, you’ve got another think coming you ass.”

He actually flinches. “I am not here to hurt your sister,” he says quietly, before his cheeks turn a soft pink again. Well, one cheek, anyway - it’s sort of hard with the scar tissue on the left to tell when he’s blushing. Sort of like how the corner of his lip tugs downwards when he talks. Not that she’s watching his lips at all. “I... I came here to help.”

She scoffs. “Help? Yeah cause you’ve been so good at that before. You don’t fool me, I see right through you.” Yeah, Calli, great plan. Sass the asshole with a lightsaber. Cause that worked so well last time... _freaking hells brain, now is_ not _the time to make that connection!_

Except unlike last time, when he got upset and loomed over her, this time he almost seems to shrink back. “I... I want to try,” he says quietly.

She frowns. “Yeah? Well last time we saw you you seemed pretty intent on _trying_ to kill my sisters,” she snaps. “So what changed?”

He shuffles awkwardly on his feet. “Actually the last time we met I was mostly unconscious, so I wasn’t capable of killing anyone. Technically.”

For the love of every god in the universe, please let him only know that because Dia told him, not because he _remembers_ anything. “Yeah? Dia tell you that?” That was definitely not a squeak in her voice, no sir.

He frowns. “I have... flashes of memory,” he says eventually, tilting his head to the side to look at her. “You looked after me.”

She hears something that sounds distinctly like Kira laughing at her from the doorway and decides to ignore her, cheeks flaming. “Whatever! I’m just nicer than you! I still don’t trust you!”

He breathes through his nose, and seems to come to some sort of decision just before he carefully underarm tosses his lightsaber to her, and she catches it just before it lands in her lap. “Perhaps this will help earn your trust,” he says quietly.

She glances down at the lightsaber, running her fingers over the gold inlay curiously. It’s surprisingly warm, like he’s been holding it in his hand for a long time now. “Huh. You and Thexan really did make the exact same lightsabers,” she murmurs, before looking up at his suddenly pale face. “And like this helps! You have the Force! You can just take it back!”

He closes his eyes, a visible tick in his jaw, but whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by the sounds of someone at the door. They both turn instantly towards it, and she feels something strange over her skin, like the feeling of those weird Force shields that Lieca does. But it seems a lot fainter than usual - no doubt it’s her sister outside, panicking about her like she always does, and the distance is affecting her control.

Kira steps aside just as her sisters burst into the room, heading straight for her, and only Cera stops short as she locks eyes with Arcann. Lieca makes a beeline for her, stopping just in front of her with her heart in her eyes and her hands clasped in front of her. “Calli! Are you alright? Oh darling, we were so worried!”

She huffs, trying to wave Lieca off as she kneels next to her, and twinging her side with the movement. “Ow! I mean, I’m fine, Lieca, I’m fine.”

Lieca gives her a Look, and she blows her hair off her forehead. “Ugh, fine. My ankle, and some bastard got me in the side.”

She hisses in a breath as Lieca moves her hands to her side, before her sister looks up at Arcann. “Thank you,” she breathes.

 

* * *

 

Arcann shuffles on his feet. “You are welcome,” he says stiffly.

It’s certainly a surreal situation, standing here in a room with the various Amell sisters again, even if Cera is the only one watching him warily. He had told himself that Calli might not be exactly pleased to see him again, but he had not prepared for her level of ire - or the terror that had nearly overwhelmed him when he saw the assassin prepared to strike her down.

Even when she’s shrieking at him and spitting her fury like a half-drowned loth cat, he can’t help but be desperately relieved that she’s alive, that he made it in time. He might not know exactly what’s going on in his head, but he knows that the thought of Calli in danger makes his chest ache. Her bright blue eyes might be glaring at him (which honestly, seems fair more in character for her and what he remembers from their time together, considering he bound her eyes during... well, during the only time she was likely to look at him warmly or softly), but he’s too relieved to be offended by her ire.

Besides, it’s still refreshing, having her speak to him as a person. She could never be mistaken for a sycophant, someone who would say anything to gain his favour. Her words might be cruel and occasionally disrespectful, but it’s still more enjoyable than immediate blind obsequience. And the note of alarm in her voice at her friend’s sly teasing is... interesting. Seeing such a confident woman in a fluster, presumably at his presence is... nice. Well, it’s probably more anger at his sudden appearance but... he can hope?

Maybe?

Is that what he wants?

His thoughts are all a jumble in his head, though that might also be the exertion from his maddened rush to get here, and the adrenalin flooding his weakened body. He startles at the rush of the Force nearby, and stares in confusion at the chair that suddenly lands next to him. Lieca is completely focused on Calli’s side, and it’s Cera who answers his unasked question. “Sit down, you look awful,” the other twin says bluntly, narrowing her eyes at him when he doesn’t move immediately.

Every instinct screams not to appear weaker in front of a woman who is a considerate threat to him, but without his lightsaber, he cannot exactly hope to match her anyway. And his head is honestly aching, though he’s not entirely sure why-

He reluctantly sits in the offered chair, and barely catches the object Cera throws at him before it hits him in the face. “Drink that,” she says crossly. “Honestly, it’s like dealing with the girls as toddlers again, fluids are important you know.”

He looks blankly at the small canister in his hand and Cera sighs. “It’s just an energy drink. You look as though you’re about to pass out. No fainting before Dia gets the chance to scold you.”

It goes against everything he was ever taught, to trust his enemy, but he’s so tired. And honestly? The Amell twins have had every opportunity to end his life, and even with his father’s ghost in Lieca’s head, every time they chose to spare him. He had thought at first that Lieca’s decision to defend and not attack on Asylum was due to her own weakness - she was obviously not capable of matching him in a lightsaber duel. But then Cera obviously _was_ capable, and she still stayed her hand. Even though she had injured him in the end (he winces at the memory of his implants pushing into his skin), she had obviously not tried to _mortally_ injure him.

Even with Valkorion in her head, Lieca still cried for him to be saved. She pleaded with her sisters for his life. He only remembers flashes of the shuttle, but he can remember her voice as clear as anything (possibly due to the connection they share) and she wanted him to be saved.

That’s more than his father ever did. Valkorion was never the sort to sweetly offer salvation and then snatch it back from them. That would have required him to be kind to them in the first place.

Besides, if Cera wishes him dead, there’s not a lot he can do about it. Poison would probably be faster than whatever else their Alliance has planned for him. He shudders at the thought, reluctantly bringing the drink to his lips. It’s surprisingly sweet, and actually tastes rather good.

When he lowers his head back down, Cera is smiling a little, and he notices that it softens her expression enough to make her resemblance to her twin and her sweet smile more noticeable. “See? Not so bad eh?” Cera says dryly, before turning her attention to the red-headed Jedi Calli had called Kira. From the way they move and the way the Force flows between them, he would say that they are bonded also.

But something else tugs in the Force to gain his attention and he turns his gaze back to Calli and Lieca to see Calli’s side glowing a soft gold under Lieca’s hand. He wonders why it took her so long to do it, considering she’s been knelt there for a few moments, and Lieca suddenly looks over at him. “It’s easier to wait until the shield fades,” she says softly. “But you did well. Thank you.”

He frowns. “You keep saying that.”

Calli gives him a weird look and Lieca huffs a laugh. “Repetition seems to be what gets through to you,” she replies, moving her hands to Calli’s ankle over her boots. “Seems you only believe me if I keep saying things enough times.”

His frown deepens, and Lieca suddenly pulls a rather confused face, her attention drawn to Calli’s ankle for a moment. “Huh, that’s odd,” she says softly, before her hands glow a soft gold again.

Calli suddenly curses. “Ow! Damnit Lieca, that hurts!”

Lieca sighs. “Better to hurt now than to try walking and risk further injury,” she says patiently. “It was a good effort, but without proper instruction it’s hard to find the correct nerves and muscles.”

Calli raises her eyebrow in obvious confusion, and Lieca looks over at him for a second before standing up and brushing off her skirts. He’s not entirely certain why - he didn’t do anything. But it felt like her words were directed at him.

He’s suddenly reminded of Cera’s presence when she steps up beside her sisters, with Kira moving back to the door. “So, Arcann…” she drawls. “What brings you here?”

It’s fairly obvious that’s a far more official question than when her hysterical younger sister asked, with Cera’s hand clearly on her lightsaber on her hip.

He sighs, moving his hands behind his back, despite his screaming instincts. “One of your agents sent a distress signal to Dia’ayla, concerned for the health of your slicers. She requested aid - but the doctor had just left for the clinic and I did not have a way of reaching her.”

Cera tilts her head at him. “So you came to help instead. Interesting.”

Lieca nudges her twin, before smiling sweetly at him. “Well, I am pleased you came to help - we would certainly be in trouble without you. Saving Calli like you did, stars, if you hadn’t been here...”

He nods back, a little unnerved by how frankly Cera looks him up and down. “Although, a new arm and without the mask? Hardly recognised you.”

He can’t help but glare at her for a moment. “As you were the one who destroyed the mask, it should not surprise you.”

Cera’s mildly victorious look vanishes when Lieca nudges her again. “What my sister means to say is that it is good to see you looking healthier than when we last saw you,” she says quickly, tone bright and cheerful. “The new look suits you.”

He looks down at himself and frowns. His arm might be more sophisticated than the previous one, but otherwise he thinks he looks ridiculous. Plain robes and his scars free for all to see…

It had not occurred to him until now that the lack of mask meant that his scars were on full display. It had not been a concern to him with Dia’ayla, as despite his revulsion of his face, he was at least used to medical staff seeing the marks. It was easy to forget the way he used to hide his face when she kept him busy enough trying to heal his arm to focus on anything else.

His doctors were professional, and would never have let their feelings about his scars show. It was... _different_ to have his scars displayed in a more... personal setting. He had never removed his mask for his other conquests over the years, solely for that reason. He did not want to see his lovers recoil from his face, or try to falsely smile past it while their eyes showed their horror. He knows he is marked, he knows his scars are horrible - the marks of his failures, the punishment he deserved for defying his father, for giving into his rage, for killing Th-

But now, when it’s too late to hide his features again (he recalls Dia’ayla mentioning constructing a new mask for him, for days when the implants feel strained), he remembers his scars and how he used to hide, and how ridiculous he must look.

How Calli must regret her decision to be with him, now that she can see what he really looks like.

He nearly recoils in disgust at himself. Of course, Calli had not flinched at the sight of him earlier, but no doubt she had done so on Voss. Where he remembered her presence and foolishly tried to _hope_...

He cuts off his thoughts before they can traipse further down that dark and miserable path, refusing to dwell further or to look at Calli to see the way she looks at him now. “It marks a new beginning,” he answers eventually. “I suppose finely stitched Zakuulan leather isn’t exactly suited for a man in my new position.”

Cera raises an eyebrow. “True, but it might have provided a tad more protection in your fighting here.”

Lieca sighs. “And I meant your overall appearance, not specifically your clothing,” she says gently. “What new position do you mean?”

He swallows. “A man in significant debt to those who were my enemies.”

Cera’s gaze sharpens. “Were?”

He fights the urge to gesture angrily, trying to stay still. “I am tired of this,” he says quietly. “I know that my sister has taken the Throne. I know that I will no longer be allowed a place there. I know that I no longer have a place... anywhere.”

He tilts his head at Lieca. “And I know that my father still resides in you,” he continues, repressing the urge to flinch as she does. “Yet, despite everything that my father did to our family, you still offer kindness and support. It was... not his way to offer that kind of false hope. It is... likely that he is not in control after all and I... made mistakes. Mistakes that require significant amends.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “If you arranged for my healing only to throw me into prison, or arrange for my execution... well, at least Dia’ayla will no longer have to waste her time on me.”

Lieca looks suddenly offended. “She’s not wasting her time!” she says quickly, and he realises after a moment that she’s actually offended on his behalf which is... surreal.

Cera grins. “If you were wasting her time, she would definitely say so,” she responds cheerfully, moving over to slowly help Calli to her feet. “Now come on, we have to get back to the Sith before they start trying to kill each other. Jahlia probably already has, let’s be honest.”

Lieca sighs. “Well then, shall we go?”

Arcann blinks. “What?” They’re just going to... leave?

Lieca tilts her head at him, and he can feel her amusement even if her face doesn’t show it. But it’s Cera who speaks up. “Arcann, you can’t stay here, and it’s too dangerous to send you back to Dia’s. She’ll be here soon, but I’m getting the impression from Jahlia that that might not be soon enough. She’ll meet us there.”

It’s hard not to feel intensely bitter when he’s literally driftless without them, and it makes his tone a little harsher than he’d like. “Ah. Of course. You cannot trust me to stay here by myself.”

Cera rolls her eyes, but Lieca speaks over her. “Arcann, it’s too dangerous for _you_ , not for us,” she explains patiently. “When you flew here in such a rush, no doubt you were spotted by several of the public security cameras. We have done our best to maintain the facade that you are not on this moon, but that will no doubt be impossible to commit to with publicly available footage of you. And after everything that’s happened - you are an _incredibly_ valuable target for bounties, and we are literally on a moon full of the galaxy’s most dangerous and desperate bounty hunters. That is, if you even know how to get back to Dia’s clinic in the first place.”

Ah. He hadn’t considered that. He feels his cheeks heat as he struggles for words, and Cera sighs, the sound more like a grunt of frustration. “Calli? Can you and Teeseven work your magic to delete what you can again?”

Calli makes a rather aggrieved noise through her nose, but nods, attention entirely on her datapad, and he notices she’s still slightly favouring her injured foot from the way she seems to be leaning on one hip. “Yeah, Tee’s already on it,” she says absently. “Ooh, the bounties are adding up though. And even the Black List! Ha, who wants to convince Skyrii not to take it?”

Cera frowns. “Wait, how do you have access to the Black List?”

He was thinking the exact same thing, but Calli waves them off. “That’s not important. Wait... _Cera!_ One of these is from _you!_ ”

Lieca immediately turns on her twin, and Cera looks like a ronto caught in the headlights of a shuttle. “Look, I can explain,” she attempts weakly.

“ _Cera_ ,” Lieca says, her tone teetering between vaguely murderous and scolding parent.

She shuffles on her feet. “Okay, that’s not a _real_ one,” she whines. “I was a little bored earlier and… Jahlia made me do it!”

Lieca rubs her forehead, and Arcann starts to reconsider his impulse to join up with them. “Perhaps I was better off with the GenoHaradan,” he mutters, half-trying for a joke.

Vaylin always said he had no sense of humour, but maybe she was wrong?

Cera instantly perks up, blue eyes narrowed on him immediately. “What did you say?”

He almost takes a step back from her expression, catching himself at the last minute and flushing as he feels Lieca respond to his panic and try to calm him down as subtly as possible through the Forcebond. “The message I saw at the clinic - it mentioned the GenoHaradan. Your friend’s method of communication seemed... _unusual_ , but... perhaps more prone to exaggeration than I thought?”

Cera snorts. “Unusual. I’ll have to tell Tali that one.”

Lieca waves her off. “The GenoHaradan? The Republic assassins guild? I thought they died out in Revan’s time, that’s what Master Shan told me…”

Cera sighs, apparently affectionately, and he notices that Calli apparently tends to poke her tongue out slightly when she’s concentrating. There’s a little crease between her eyes, her nose half scrunched up as her fingers fly over the screen. “You really do love those Noetikons don’t you?” Cera says to her twin. “Haven’t even seen them for five years and yet you remember everything they taught you don’t you?”

Lieca blushes, and he feels a sudden note of her shy embarrassment before it’s cut off, leaving him a little off kilter, and he realises she hadn’t noticed she was projecting until that moment. “The Noetikons are an incredible source of knowledge and-”

“I know, I know. Back to GenoHaradan. The main concern. You know, proof that the Republic tried to brutally murder us all.”

He’s a little impressed at Lieca’s beseeching expression, all big blue eyes as she stares at her twin. For all that the three sisters share the same eyes, she suddenly looks different - all imploring and earnest, and he starts to reassess his doubts of her diplomatic effectiveness.

Cera waves her off. “Come on Lieca, don’t be like that,” she says wearily. “You know it was Saresh.”

Lieca frowns and Cera sighs, cutting her off before she can speak, one hand up to her forehead as if warding off a headache. “Sis, come on. You know only the highest levels of government would even have the ability to contact or hire these fools. And Saresh is too loyal to the idea of the Republic to allow us to act so blatantly against it, regardless of what we’re trying to achieve. It’s the same reason Malcom said no to Theron. We’re technically in opposition, and the minute we approached the Sith the line of _enemy_ was clearly drawn.”

“Cera…”

“Lieca, honey, you want peace, but you won’t get it. You know as well as I do everything that’s happened, over the past decade. The goodwill you earned for bringing in the Rift Alliance doesn’t count for much when Cordan brings them back to us now. Saresh was right to be furious at Erika so neatly going around her and then retiring before she could make amends. And then everything with our work on Makeb, and _then_ fucking Garza and Eclipse - it helped strengthen her anti-corruption platform, but it put her over a barrel in the process to see one of her senior officials so tangled up in trying to save Republic ideals by undermining them in the process. And _then_ we were involved with everything on Yavin and even bloody Ziost! Every answer our family ever gave her just brought more problems along too. And now we’ve essentially created a rogue faction that is fundamentally in opposition to the Republic, taking troops and resources? From her point of view, she is entirely correct to suspect us.”

He might not have used that exact phrasing, but he agrees with the sentiment entirely.

Calli huffs, attention apparently drawn from whatever she’s typing on her datapad. “So, what you’re saying is, you think she’s right to try to assassinate us all because you guys just keep pissing her off?” she says dryly.

Cera growls at her. “Cal, come on. Of course not, and I fully intend to thump her over the head for it. But it’s important to see her side too.”

Lieca clasps her hand together, a rather proud look on her face as she looks to her twin. “Aww, Cera-”

“Don’t you start! Some of your diplomacy was bound to rub off eventually, but I’d rather not have to take a crash course cause you got kidnapped again, alright?”

“I love you too Cera.”

“Hrmph.”

Lieca then looks back at him, hands still clasped together and looking far too sweet for him to be anything other than suspicious. “Well! Shall we go?”

 

* * *

 

By the time they get back to the meeting warehouse, Jahlia is pacing around like an angry nexu, with her husband leaning on the wall behind her, looking relaxed if not for the hand obviously on his blaster. Theron is standing not too far from them, talking to someone via holo, but he hangs up as soon as he sees them and rushes over to Lieca’s side.

Calli looks over to the Imperial delegation to see Vowrawn casually standing with his hands behind his back, and Acina sitting in the spot at the head of the table while the Miraluka Sith rubs her hands over her shoulders and leans down to murmur quietly to her, seeming concerned. Huh, Acina looks much smaller in person.

And even with her eyes on the Imperials, she can still tell the exact moment that Arcann walks into the room, from the way the tension in the air suddenly feels like it's _vibrating,_ and she’s abruptly and unpleasantly reminded exactly how many Force-users she’s in the middle of here.

Acina does a pretty excellent job of masking her shock, though. “Well, this is a surprise,” she says mildly.

Calli would _kill_ for that kind of poker face. What the fuck does some fancy Sith have it for? She can just kill everyone who judges her with her mind, she doesn’t need to bluff!

Jahlia looks far closer to murdering, actually, and she doesn’t miss the way her sister casually slides into place between Jahlia and Arcann. “Hello again everyone,” Lieca says cheerfully, as if they’d only stopped for a tea and bathroom break, and not to deal with attempted murder. “I trust we are all recovered from the earlier excitement?”

Acina’s eyebrow rises. “You seem to have recovered admirably,” she replies evenly. “A few additions to your party even?”

Without missing a beat, Lieca’s smile brightens. “Oh yes, of course. You know Arcann Tirall, former Emperor of Zakuul?”

Acina nods. “Yes. Apparently we have been in a secret relationship for some time now, according to any number of gossip sites on the holonet,” she says drolly, before turning her head towards Arcann. “You don’t write, you don’t call. Was it something I said?”

Arcann’s expression barely changes, though she can tell he’s a little frustrated from the tick in his jaw. “I... what?”

Lieca clasps her hands together. “Oh, do you have his secret love child also? Is yours also apparently in hiding on Zakuul? Drat, it will be so much harder to claim alimony payments now.”

Calli stares at her sister, her expression matched by Cera’s. “Drat? Really sis?”

Lieca ignores her, still looking at Acina before the Sith speaks. “Indeed. To what do we owe the pleasure of his Immortal Majesty’s presence, then?”

“Conclusive proof of the effectiveness of the Alliance,” Lieca says sweetly. “We have achieved significant results over the past year, in the areas of both combat proficiency and rehabilitation.”

Acina frowns. “Eloquently spun. However, you removed a dictator from the throne and placed his far more unpredictable sister in his place. You destroyed the flagship of the Eternal Fleet and in the process invited retaliation on a dozen worlds. The Alliance has done little to prove its ability to be a strong ally with far-reaching goals.”

Lieca shakes her head. “We successfully swayed one who was our enemy to our cause. We acted cautiously against an invading force that led to no direct casualties on our side or those of our allies, and in return partially led to the destruction of a significant power in the Zakuulan navy. We have also successfully swayed Empress Vaylin from attacking several worlds on impulse, gently guiding to places with greater defences and superior preparations.”

Acina concedes the point with a nod, starting to look a little frustrated. “Indeed,” she says sourly, turning to Arcann. “And now you have the former Emperor on your side? Your efforts must have been... considerable.”

Arcann stares back at her evenly. “My choices are my own,” he says quietly, and Calli kind of wishes his voice wasn’t so gravelly because that’s totally unfair. “And I have seen the successes of the Alliance. They have achieved more against Zakuul than any of the Throne’s enemies - and in a significantly shorter timeframe.”

Well, that’s a fairly polite way of saying ‘ _by the way you guys suck because the Alliance did in less than one year what you couldn’t achieve in six_ ’.

“The Alliance has not been dealing with enemies on multiple fronts and-”

“The Alliance was wise enough not to start another war when they were already losing the first,” Arcann interrupts, starting to sound a little smug. “They were disadvantaged from the start in terms of alliances and resources, and still managed to achieve what no other had done - and without the same comparable losses.”

Cera looks so damn proud and even Theron’s scowling, suspicious look is starting to fade. And another tiny band around her heart loosens - hearing him independently defend the work that her family has done helps push her distrust of him and his motives down a little more.

Lieca purses her lips. “We are not here to discuss the actions undertaken between the Imperial Empire and Zakuul,” she chides gently, her gaze on Arcann before she looks back to Acina. “But no doubt the support of our former enemy only lends credence to my words.”

Acina sits back in her chair. “Or rather, the defeat of your enemy proves his weakened strength at the time of his defeat. Without Zakuul, he is without resources, which therefore confirms that you have been directly involved in the obvious enhancements to his arm. An enemy in your debt is hardly a honest source of information.”

Arcann merely raises his eyebrow. “I must have weakened considerably for the mere Alliance to do what the entire Sith Empire could not,” he says, his tone _just_ shy of polite.

Even in plain brown robes, Arcann manages to look far more at ease with these proceedings than she feels, and honestly she shouldn’t be surprised. He was a fucking _Emperor_ , he basically spent his entire life at fancy shindigs like this - smooth-talking the most powerful people in the galaxy, all presence and posturing and just... _ugh_.

Arcann looks more at home here than _she_ does, and not for the first time she’s so grateful that she doesn’t have any weird Force bonds with any of them, because then they can’t feel the way the thought makes her feel physically ill.

Even _Arcann_ belongs with her family more than she does.

She unconsciously takes a half-step back, but luckily only Andronikos sees her, a flash of concern on his face. If she couldn’t all but feel the gaze of that Miraluka Sith upon her, she would have moved her arms up around herself, and it takes everything she has not to fidget, to not show such obvious weakness.

The uncomfortable tension is broken as Jahlia suddenly laughs, the sound bright and cheerful. “Ha! He’s got you there!”

Acina looks vaguely murderous and Lieca glares first at Arcann and then at Jahlia. “Everyone, please,” she says firmly, the sweetness of her tone fading slightly. “Our goal is to prove our worth independently of comparisons to others - not to disparage those we are meeting with.”

Acina folds her arms. “Indeed. So to save on time - to business. What are your terms for alliance?”

Arcann speaks up before Lieca can. “Why would the Alliance trust an ally who so easily breaks the terms of one treaty to bind another?”

If she wasn’t feeling so ill she’d almost laugh at the look on Acina’s face, but Lieca doesn’t look at him. He does look vaguely stunned for a moment though, and she wonders if Lieca addressed him through that Forcebond crap they’ve got going on.

Everything’s fine.

Lieca flashes a sunny smile at the Empress. “I would not ask the Empire to break their treaty with Zakuul,” she says quickly. “That’s not what this meeting is for.”

Acina raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is it for then?”

Lieca moves her hands to her sides, her entire posture as non-threatening as possible. “I do not ask the Empire to be an ally, and risk breaking one treaty to forge another, as Arcann so eloquently put it. I ask you not to be our ally - but instead I ask you to not be our foe.”

Acina looks intrigued. “A truce?”

Jahlia waves her hand, looking bored. “The Empire obviously wants access to the Alliance’s information networks, and so a military alliance solves no-one’s desires,” she says listlessly, her smile showing teeth when Acina glares at her.

Lieca sighs, rubbing her forehead. “And the Alliance wishes to act within Imperial borders.”

Acina’s gaze sharpens. “And what of the defectors from the Imperial army?”

Cera cuts in. “Granted amnesty from the Empire for the cause of fighting against Zakuul. It may not be their direct orders, but to take the fight to Zakuul is within the Empire’s best interests in the eyes of those who have joined us. As members of the Alliance, they are not bound by Imperial treaties and thus no breach has occured, yet they still benefit the Empire. We will protect them and in turn not provide details of this truce to Zakuul. Nor the names of those within our ranks to the Empire.”

Acina hisses. “And your Force users?”

Andronikos, hidden behind his wife and out of Acina’s view, looks at Calli and quickly moves his hand up to his forehead to twirl his fingers around. The gesture, from someone who probably feels as lost here as her, does make her feel a bit better and she smiles.

Lieca shakes her head. “Again, no names will be confirmed, and a general amnesty is expected for any of those that may have originally been allied exclusively with the Sith Empire.”

Acina looks pretty damn sour. “Any _other_ conditions? What of the attack upon us today, by the GenoHaradan? Is that not the work of your Republic?”

Lieca is way too smooth for this to be anything other than a prepared answer. “The war between the Republic and the Empire is not for this Alliance to resolve. If a Republic aligned force attacked Imperial dignitaries, that is for the Republic and Empire to discuss. The actions of the GenoHaradan against the Alliance will be resolved internally by the Alliance.”

“Hrmph. They said you were slippery,” Acina says, sitting back in her chair and sounding amused.

Lieca smiles again. “I’m afraid I can’t comment on that.”

Calli suddenly has the wild thought of what would happen if Geralt was in the room too, with his general ridiculousness and smooth-talking combined with Lieca’s. He might undermine Lieca’s sweet honesty a bit, but damn if that man wasn’t good at running circles around people when he wanted to put the effort in. She suddenly misses him fiercely, for all that it’s been barely weeks since they were together.

But whatever, now the most _boring_ part of this critical meeting starts - everything in writing.

First assassinations, now _paperwork_.

What has she done wrong to deserve this?

 

* * *

 

All things considered, the rest of the day goes fairly smoothly - granted, that’s not that hard a target when the morning started with attempted assassinations. After the talks with Acina wrap up to the satisfaction of all parties, they all head off to Jahlia’s penthouse. She basically has a full-on suite going on here (apparently being the leader of a cult or whatever-the-fuck it is she does here pays pretty well? Go figure), and enough space available that they won’t all be in each other’s business if they don’t want to be.

Good thing too, because if she has to watch Lieca fussing over Theron and him making eyes back at her for one more minute, she’s going to scream. They’re so _gross_.

... okay, well, she’s only a _tiny_ bit jealous of how close they are, with Lieca running her hands through his hair and his arm tight around her waist. Not that she wants to be at all that close to Theron, _ever_ (just, _ew_ ) but just in general might be nice.

She misses Bowdaar fiercely. It’s been so long since they lived together on Zakuul, but she’s still adjusting to him not always being around every minute of the day. He’s probably still being used as a jungle gym for her nieces, and loving every minute of it.

She giggles at the thought, and studiously ignores the way pale blue eyes snap to hers at the sound. Was Arcann always this... _intense_?

Her only respite from the way he kinda quietly hovers around and makes his presence somehow so damn obvious even when he was silent had been when Dia showed up at the estate. The dressing down had been equal parts awkward to witness and down right hilarious, and Arcann seated himself rather quickly to allow her to investigate his implants.

He’s so quiet and calm and serious - it reminds her more of how he was the night they met, rather than the angry ball of rage they met on Asylum, and it’s only playing a _little_ havoc with her hormones. Damn, she really needs to get laid again soon. Find some cute guy who won’t ask for anything more  and just ride him into the sunset. The only trouble is, you know, _finding_ said guy, and she almost pouts. What’s a girl gotta do to get what she wants around here?

She realises Arcann is watching her again, and she wonders if he can hear her thoughts or something and her cheeks burn. Even though they aren’t... _anything_... it still seems a bit awkward to think about it with him right there.

Maybe it’s the aura of annoyance Dia is projecting, flicking Arcann’s forehead to get his attention back to what she’s doing.

Eventually Dia declares him ‘ _acceptable_ ’ and sequesters herself with Lieca as the two healers run through some sort of treatment plan thing, from the few words she overhears from the other side of the room. As though the others can sense the tension, Cera immediately challenges her to cards, and they start a mini sort of tournament, alternating players whenever someone wins.

Nobody acknowledges Arcann as they play, and he does not ask to join them.

She feels a tiny bit bad for that, and she’s pretty sure Lieca’s general niceness is just rubbing off on her. He’s the fucking ex-Emperor of Zakuul for crying out loud! She shouldn’t care less about what he’s feeling or thinking! Focus on the game, damnit!

It was a really good thing Lieca came over just before Cera and Jahlia really did flip the table. Their eyes might have been sparkling with glee, but there’s just a bit too much _challenge_ there for her to trust them entirely. Her sisters speak to each other privately for a moment before Lieca and Theron leave the estate, and she’s fairly certain she overheard them mentioning something about Vitalia.

She’s only been gloating a little that she fixed the security breach Arcann caused by running around Nar Shaddaa like an idiot before the SIS did. Vitalia grudgingly agreed to take her out to dinner as a reward, and Jonas adds the bottle of whiskey for his bet. She wonders if Geralt knows his sister pocketed his money to pay for her bet... and if he would bother drawing attention to it. Vitalia might be almost a foot shorter than her brother, but she could still kick his ass to Zakuul and back if she needed to.

T7 suddenly whistles at her side, and she turns her attention from Cera and Andronikos’ game to her datapad to see what the little droid has found. Another bounty hunter on the way - maybe she can direct the first group she spotted into T7’s group and… done!

Hey, the nautolan in the first group has her own bounties - it would just be rude not to pass that on, after all.

While she’s giggling with T7, Jahlia declares that she’s bored of them all, though anyone with half a brain cell can see the way she’s been looking at her husband, and they leave to go back to their private suites of the estate. Cera and Kira play one more game, with Arcann still leaning on the nearby wall with his arms folded as he pretends not to pay attention, though she can tell he is. He’s not a very subtle man after all.

She flushes with remembrance at exactly how unsubtle he could be when he wanted to be, and quickly busies herself with her datapad just as Kira curses, pulling out her comm. “Damnit! I’m needed down at the orphanage. Cera, can you come with me and be damage control? With your twin terrors, these kids’ll be a slice of cake.”

Cera sighs. “This is a terrible vacation,” she mutters, laboriously unfolding herself from her chair. Pretending as though she just wants to be away from her girls even though she had only called them about an hour ago, obviously missing them dreadfully.

Cera then pauses in the doorway, looking back between her and Arcann with a shrewd expression on her face; she realises about two seconds later what’s about to fall out of Cera’s stupid fat mouth. “Look, we really need to go. But you guys’ll be fine here - Jahlia and Nikki aren’t too away, and Lieca should be back any minute. Just don’t... don’t touch anything.”

 _Or each other_.

Calli glares at her. “I’m not five fucking years old Cera!” she snaps hotly. “I don’t need to be supervised every Esne-damned minute!”

Cera sighs. “I more meant Broody over there,” she replies dryly, gesturing at Arcann who only raises an eyebrow. “ _Behave_.”

He doesn’t move at all. “I shall endeavour to be on my best behaviour in the time that I am left without hovering Jedi,” he says blandly. “Perhaps I can keep my wildly murderous impulses in check for another few hours.”

She blinks and Cera glares at him. “Not funny!” she hisses, just as Kira mumbles something behind her. “Yes, yes, I know. Ugh. We’re going to leave. Doors are locked, cameras are on and just... don’t do anything stupid. Teeseven, you’re in charge.”

Calli’s mouth drops. “What? But what about-”

“Bye!”

And without another word, Cera and Kira bolt out of the room too.

And there goes her last defence to being alone. In a room. With Arcann.

 _Thanks, Cera, you fucking traitor_.

She fully intends to ignore him completely, absorbed in conversation with T7, before the droid decides to go check out the consoles in the other room in the least subtle manner possible; clearly all of this time around Cera has made T7 just as bad as her at acting casual. She’s pretty sure the way T7 slowly drives past Arcann is meant to be a little more threatening, but the ex-Emperor just looks more baffled as to why a droid head is rotating to stay focused on him while moving so slowly away from him.

She doesn’t know if it’s possible to throttle an astromech, but she’s sure willing to try.

And now, of course, she’s alone with Arcann. Arcann who is staring at her. Back to ignoring him. Work work work. Security. Slicing. Plotting murder of her sisters. Plotting murder of traitorous astromechs. Hoping Arcann isn’t planning _her_ murder. That’d be a downer. Serves her right for being so _distracted_.

Work work work.

But she can only tolerate a few more minutes of the absolute silence on the other side of the room before she glances up to realise he’s _still staring_ at her and she glares at him. “ _What?_ ”

He looks like he’s collecting his thoughts for a moment, but his eyes don’t leave hers. “Calli,” he starts, eventually, and Force fucking take her it _hurts_.

“Callistra,” she corrects through gritted teeth.

If she wasn't watching him so closely she might not have noticed the way he flinches at that, and her heart feels like it's being squeezed. “Callistra,” he says roughly.

“What?” she snaps. Okay that wasn’t what she wanted at all, her full name shouldn’t sound so good from his mouth _damnit_.

He pauses for a moment, expression tight. “May I… may I ask you something?”

She jerks her head in a nod, folding her arms. Why not? _Why the fuck not_?

He swallows, almost seeming to hunch over himself like he’s bracing for something. “Did you…. did you mean what happened? Or was it... was it all just a lie?”

She stares at him. “Huh? You’re gonna have to be _way_ more specific.”

He hunches further. “Before. In... in the Spire.”

Wait. Ohhhhhhh no. “... when we met?”

Yep, that’s definitely what he’s asking - fucking hells, someone swoop in and kill her now. As though she's even remotely prepared to have this conversation with him.

He nods. “Yes. Was it... did you choose me just because of your sister? Were... were you just playing a role? Or did you... did you actually choose...”

It would be so easy to say yes, yes it was just a role, and turn away. Say yes and watch his expression to see if he felt hurt or triumph there. Of course it would be relief, what is she even thinking? His pride just wants to confirm how stupid she was for letting him in, and she can't tell him that because he doesn't deserve to even know how much he hurt her-

“No. Not playing a role.”

They both freeze and Calli’s eyes widen. That wasn't what she meant to say at all! But his expression changes to a small devastatingly hopeful smile and her heart thumps in her chest.

He looks about to speak again and she _panics_ and cuts him off. “What about _you_?”

He seems startled. “I’m sorry?”

“What role were _you_ playing? Emperor choosing his next plaything? Next meaningless conquest?”

Something flickers across his expression almost like confusion and she wonders how in Corellia’s seven hells he can be this oblivious. “I... what?”

She scoffs. “Come on now, let’s not play games, _Arcann_ ,” she snarls, and he flinches. Like he’s afraid of her, his pale blue eyes watching her far too intensely for her comfort. “You might pretend that you were being different, but I saw right through you. Pretending that I was special, that I _meant something_. Ha! You thought I was tricked? I bet you said that to everyone.”

He’s frowning, definitely confused now, and it throws her a little bit too. Surely he didn’t think she was that stupid, to not figure this out? “I didn’t-”

She stomps over to him. “I don’t care if you were Emperor or not,” she snaps. “Nobody gets to talk to me like I’m important and then just laugh behind my back afterwards, okay? How many people did you _really_ take the mask off for, huh?”

He’s still staring, and she jabs her finger into his chest, suddenly wishing she was taller so she wasn’t looking up at him. “What’s the matter, the number too high for you to count?”

“No. Just you.”

It throws her off completely, and she deflates. “What?” That’s just... ridiculous. He’s lying. He has to be lying.

He looks a little annoyed now, all but glaring down at her. “Just you. I meant everything I said.”

She blinks, horrified to recognise a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Calli-”

She jumps back instantly. “I told you not to call me that,” she says quickly. “Only my friends get to call me Calli!”

“Callistra-”

Okay, his voice is _still_ a little too low for comfort even on her full name, what the fuck is that about?? “No. Not that either. I changed my mind.”

He blinks in confusion and frowns. “My lady?”

Now she’s definitely blushing. “No! Definitely not that!” Let him never find out what his voice does to her. She’ll take that to her grave, hormones be damned.

He tilts his head to the side, a little perplexed. Good. “What form of address do you want me to use then?”

The easiest way to stop him fucking _drawling_ her name. “Nothing!”

“Alright, Miss Nothing, I have a question-”

Fucking Scyva- “Are you _sassing_ me?”

He hums, clearly amused. “I would never dream of it.”

She glares at him. “Fuck, you’re infuriating.”

He frowns. “What? But I’m not doing anything-”

She jabs her finger into his chest again, apparently much harder this time as he grunts at the moment. “Listen here _bud_ -”

“Oh, are we buddies now? You were so insistent last time.”

She’s pretty sure her face is on fire, and he’s starting to look _smug_ rather than _afraid_ and she really doesn’t like it. At all. “Fuck. You.” she snaps, realising far too late the similarities between the first time she met him and now when he sucks in a breath at her words.

He swallows. “Is that a request?”

His voice sounds far more unsure and... hopeful? Than it did that first night, though he’s clearly trying to sound smug as well, and she really does not know what to do with this. “ _Please_. Like you could handle it,” she challenges, all but turning her nose in the air as she takes her hand off his chest, but doesn’t step back. That would be admitting defeat. Can’t have that.

He frowns, looking a little offended. “I think I performed more than adequately the first time,” he says testily. “Perhaps you are the one who could not ‘ _handle it_ ’.”

Ooh, that fucker. Challenging her with his voice all gruff and growly and fucking _hot_ and his eyebrow slightly raised and his way too blue eyes focused on her. Bruised pride apparently makes him a little more confident, who knew. “Adequately? Yeah, I suppose it was a slight step above generic,” she rebuffs.

He looks even more offended now. “ _Generic_?”

She nods, significantly more cheerful at his annoyance. “Of course. I’ve had better.” Callistra, you fucking _liar_. “And _please_ , I could _handle_ you any day of the week, buster.”

He looks like he’s struggling for a moment, expression fluctuating from _annoyed_ to _smug_. “I beg to differ. Your reactions said otherwise.”

“It’s called _acting_ ,” she retorts, and his expression closes off for a moment before he suddenly looks gleeful.

“You said you weren’t playing a role,” he challenges. “Your _reaction_ was quite vocal. And appreciative. _Very_ appreciative.”

Yep, face still on fire. “Says the man who practically came when I said his name, _Arcann_.”

He’s practically looming over her now and she’s absolutely not going to step back. That would be letting him win. Or something. “You surprised me,” he admits gruffly. “I enjoyed the confirmation that your thoughts were of me, rather than anything else.”

She swallows. “Maybe I was lying-”

“Maybe you weren’t.”

She scowls. As if he would know. “Maybe I’m just that good, _Arcann_.”

“You were far better than just ‘ _good_ ’, _Callistra._ ”

It makes something in her chest flutter and honestly it feels a little like a challenge. But she’s never been good at resisting a challenge, and he seriously needs to be taken down a peg or two.

Well, that’s what she tells herself when she reaches out to catch his collar and pull him closer to kiss him hard.

It’s only fair, he _did_ save her life today.

It was almost like he was expecting it (well that makes one of them), and he follows her far too easily, moaning against her mouth instantly. His hands move far faster than she thought, his human hand in her hair while his mechanical hand curls around her waist and she almost jumps at the cool metal against her skin. Why is her jacket so short?? But he growls and presses closer, and fucking hells he’s definitely still a fantastic kisser, how the fuck is a girl supposed to concentrate?

Her hands slide up to loop around his neck, and he moans again as she moves her right hand to cup the back of his head, fingers brushing against his scars. She’s not quite sure how he moves his mouth, but he does and somehow the angle is infinitely better and she sighs against him, pressing just that little bit closer. Her thoughts are hazy in her head and he’s way too fucking good at this and she can’t concentrate on anything other than his mouth and how much she _needs_ to touch him.

But then the sound of the front door of the apartment opening jars her from her complete lack of rationality, and Lieca’s voice breaks through the haze. “Calli? We’re back!”

She all but _leaps_ backwards from Arcann, eyes wide and panicked, and tries not to notice how his breathing seems even less under control than hers. “I, uh-” she starts.

Arcann’s own eyes are wide, his cheeks flushed, and honestly he looks way too turned on from just a kiss (as though she’s anyone to judge). “That was-”

“A thank you. For saving my life. That’s it,” she interrupts instantly, telling both him and herself as she steps further away from him. Thank the fucking stars Lieca reappeared when she did. That was almost a colossal mistake. He saved her life, he got a kiss - that’s the end of that right?

 _Right_??

But Arcann is staring at her, his colour still high, and he manages to look both pained and amazed at what happened and ohhhhh no, she has made _such a mistake._

Her sister is still speaking from the other room, and she can almost hear Theron grumbling behind her. “Calli?”

“In here!” she calls back, studiously ignoring the blue eyes tracking her every move.

She turns away just as Lieca steps into the living area, all sweetness and light and not at all terrible terrible decision-making. “Calli? Are you alright?”

She jerks her head in a nod, crouching down to pick up one of her datapads. “Of course!” she lies, deliberately keeping her tone light even as she keeps her back to them all. “I just need to go see Vitalia. Took you guys long enough, honestly.”

Theron still seems to be in the front room, his voice echoing as he calls back. “Sorry Calli, we had to actually do some work today!”

Lieca sighs. “Ignore him,” she says fondly, and Calli resists the urge to reply ‘ _duh_ ’. “We’ll be staying here now, if you need to go though. I’m sorry we kept you waiting.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, and flees without looking back at Arcann. Lieca apparently turns to him in the meantime, sounding worried. “Arcann? Are you alright? You seem quite flushed.”

He grunts just as Calli reaches the door. “The excitement of the day may be catching up with me,” he says quietly. “I will go lie down for awhile.”

“Are you sure? I can look over you if you like-”

“Please do not trouble yourself. I am fine.”

Thank every fucking deity that her sister is dense as lead about relationships sometimes. Not that this is a relationship. Just an awful fucking decision. No-one ever needs to know about her temporary lapse of judgement.

She slips out the front door without Theron seeing her, and takes a moment to rest against the door when it closes.

_What the fuck had she done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that if you kill me you don't find out what happens next xoxoxo.
> 
> Darth Obcaecus belongs to thegingerjedi!


	31. Stars

In the end, it’s Andronikos that finds Calli hidden in what passes for a basement level in a penthouse, angrily punching the designated bag hanging supported from the ceiling. He wanders towards her and leans against the nearby wall, arms folded, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

She’d rather punch something instead. That’ll teach her stupid hormones. Or something.

Andronikos grunts at her latest strike, clearly a little amused. “Heh. Surprised you’re not just in the shooting range,” he says dryly.

She glares at him from around the bag before repositioning her neck to carefully make the next strike. “Did that already,” she scowls, all but daring him to say anything about it.

He apparently turns his head to see her handiwork in the nearby target markers and whistles low under his breath. “Huh. You’re a pretty good shot kid.”

She snorts. “Yes, I suppose that many headshots might be out of reach for you, old man.”

“Hey!”

She giggles as she makes her next punch, aware that the sound is almost slipping into hysteria. She finishes off with a kick, and rights the bag before peeking around it at the pirate. “What do you want, Andronikos?”

He shrugs, still pressed against the wall. “Just checking.”

Ugh, she feels disgusting, and is probably the same colour as her hair. She grabs her towel and rubs it over her face, thinking longingly of her shower. “Checking on what? My ass?”

She might be being a bit of a brat as she deliberately bends over in front of him, her head absolutely not spinning at the sudden movement, but he just laughs. “Heh. It is a nice ass but no, not what I came down here for.”

She snorts, running her towel over her face again. “Mostly cause Jahlia’d kill you stone dead if she caught you looking at someone else.”

He chuckles again, but there’s something different in his eyes. “Nah. She loves me too much. Would only knock me around a little, and more as a warm-up than anything else.”

She stares at him in confusion for a moment before comprehension hits and she steps back, sure her face is even more red from embarrassment. “Huh? Oh wait, no! Your sex life is your business thanks, I don’t need to know about it. Go bone your wife without passing on the details, eh?”

He laughs at her reaction, expression clearly smug for a moment before it fades to serious. “Yeah, well, gotta watch out for those Force users.”

There’s a note of something in his voice that makes her pause. “Hmm?”

His dark eyes don’t really give anything away, but something about him is setting off alarms in her head. “Passionate, sure, but also pretty damn dangerous if you’ve not got your wits about you.”

She gives him an odd look, pretty sure her rapidly-beating heart isn’t just due to the exercise. “Okay... well, I’ll make a mental note not to date your wife?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, you _are_ her type but she does prefer people who aren’t hung up on others.”

She freezes. “What?”

He sighs. “Come on, you don’t think you’re subtle, do you? You and that Zakuulan been making cow eyes at each other all day,” he says, a brief flash of his smirk before his expression grows serious again. “I just... you should know what you’re getting yourself into.”

She steps back in horror. “I’m not doing any _cow eyes_ or anything, you’re out of your mind!”

He apparently decides to ignore that. “Sure, and I’m the Queen of Dubrillion,” he sneers.

She glares at him. “With that attitude, you might as well be!”

“I’m telling Drayen you said that.”

She huffs and turns away, fully prepared to ignore him. Who the fuck does he think he is, coming in and talking at her about _Arcann_ like he’s got a right to... or that there’s anything there at all to talk about in the first place.

Her face burns at the flash of memory of the way she’d kissed Arcann earlier, how damn responsive he’d been, and how she’d felt like she’d simultaneously made the best and worst decision of her life. Even more than agreeing to sleep with him in the Spire - at least that one had the vague excuse of it being for her sister.

Kissing him earlier today? Not so much.

Andronikos sighs. “Amell... I’m sure as hell not telling you what to do. Just... be careful. Force users can be pretty damn dangerous when they want to be - I thought I knew what I was getting myself into, and Jahlia still damn about knocked me sideways. You’re used to your sisters, all sugar-sweet calm Jedi, but non-Jedi Force users are an entirely different breed,” he says quietly, before smirking. “Besides, it’ll do no good if this Alliance has got plans for him and your Wookiee friend or Abelli kill him first.”

She glares at him. “Even _if_ anything was going on, you’re assuming I wouldn’t get there first,” she sniffs disdainfully. She then raises her eyebrow at him. “But thanks for the warning, _dad_.”

He grunts, looking mildly horrified. “Say what now?”

She tilts her nose in the air. “You’re practically old enough to be my dad you know, give or take a few years.”

He glares at her and she starts laughing, moving around the room to pick up her stuff. Andronikos apparently can’t help trying to get in the last word though. “Well, that depends. What’s your mum’s name?”

She snorts. “Even if you were on Alderaan twenty-nine years ago, Orrin would’ve killed you before you even got close. You were the one warning me about Sith after all. And you know, assuming Mum had enough poor taste to choose some whelpy teenager anyway. Well, other than her poor taste in who she married in the first place.”

When she turns back to Andronikos, he looks extremely offended. “ _Whelpy_?”

She laughs again, already feeling much better.

 

* * *

 

It’s a few hours later that Arcann finds himself in one of the side-rooms to the entrance hall with Lieca.

She and her sister had politely shown him a room earlier, which also had a refresher attached, and she had told him to meet her here afterwards. The bedroom was far smaller than he was used to - obviously, Dia’ayla’s clinic was also fairly small, but it was easier to ignore that while he was focused on healing and trying to learn where he was.

But when he was in a private room where he was obviously supposed to sleep, the size felt almost suffocating. The room wasn’t even cluttered - the bare essentials of a small bed and a tiny desk in the corner of the room. He was fully intending on sleeping - it had been an exceptionally long day after all - but when he grumpily rolled onto the tiny bed, he had noticed that it would still be big enough for two people, and his mind of course had instantly gone to Calli. Who had kissed him. Enthusiastically so.

Fucking _Esne_ , will she ever cease tormenting him?!

So he might have angrily moved to the refresher (also disgustingly tiny, how did these people live??) and decided to deal with the most pressing matter at hand. Better not to think of what her kisses might mean and the way she ran from him, and instead focus on how fucking amazing she felt in his arms and how eagerly her mouth moved on his as his hand drifts down his stomach.

He might have spilled over in his own hand in record time, but it _had_ been awhile, and he was obviously ridiculously keyed up in the first place. He just needed to deal with it so that he could settle himself enough to nap. It had nothing to do with how good she tasted, or how much he wanted her, or how much he wished she was there beside him now. It was just to make it easier for him to sleep without picturing it in perfect detail behind his eyelids.

Or something.

He shakes his head to clear it, trying to focus on what Lieca is saying. He had awoken from his nap, a little disoriented at the different surroundings, and had eventually been directed to this place by the little astromech who had been acting so odd towards him earlier. Cera and Jahlia had been playing some sort of game on a table just outside the room, and the warning could not have been more obvious than if they had said it aloud.

_Don’t try anything. Don’t hurt her._

So he’s standing here politely waiting for Lieca to address why she really called him here, and he’s pretty sure the nerves he’s feeling aren’t entirely his own. He hopes the bond is a little more one-way that it seems to be, else he really will have some explaining to do from earlier.

But Lieca keeps chattering, moving around the room and touching things fondly, and he finds himself relaxing as she does. Now that he’s a little calmer, less keyed up from battle and adrenaline and the need to survive, he can notice the things about her that show that his father has little influence on her. She is too... _open_ , too sweet, even when obviously deflecting from certain topics. It helps him to relax, less afraid that his father is going to appear at any moment.

Lieca suddenly looks at him, and he can feel the apology in her eyes; it makes something in him spike uncomfortably, part panic and paranoia and part anger at her sympathy. He grunts and looks away.

Valkorion just ruins everything, even the intentions of a woman who seems to be legitimately trying to be nice to him for some Scyva-forsaken reason.

Lieca half-sits on the edge of the desk on the other side of the room, and he does appreciate that she’s clearly trying not to be in his space (as much as she can avoid it in such tiny quarters). “The others are outside for you as much as me,” she says quietly.

He blinks in confusion, his gaze coming back to her. “I’m sorry?”

She gestures vaguely, folding her arms around herself. “Cera and Jahlia are there in case…. anything happens. I-I worry about what... the former Emperor might do, after everything that happened on Asylum.”

For a moment there he thought she meant him, but he realises she’s just avoiding mentioning his father by name or relation to him. Another oddly comforting gesture. “You told me you sealed him,” he says, his skin almost itching with _hope_ , as foreign as that emotion is. “Why are you worried?”

Lieca’s arms tighten. “We did,” she says, voice even quieter. “Well - I don’t know how long anyone could keep him contained but... we’re trying.”

She then looks away, her expression sad. “I can feel him breaking through a little, sometimes,” she whispers. “It’s nowhere near as bad as he used to be, but I fear the distance from Master Satele is not helping. I think I will stay home for awhile after this, see if that helps. We’re trying to find a more permanent solution but... I’m sure you know that that’s harder than it sounds.”

He nods, not trusting his voice as he swallows desperately. He really does not want his father to return, and feels a shudder of cold horror up his spine at the mere suggestion of it.

Lieca then suddenly brightens, but he can sense her mood is more a facade than anything. He understands - he’d rather not think about Valkorion either. She turns to face the box she brought in with her. “Oh! While Dia’ayla was over, she brought your clothes with her. It took awhile to find a Zakuulan leatherworker we trusted to look after them properly, and to remake the panels that were too damaged, but I think it looks alright! This is for you.”

She then lifts the lid off the box and gently pulls out his folded clothes from inside, before turning back to hand them to him.

He stares at her blankly, and she smiles encouragingly. “It’s alright, they are yours after all,” she says gently.

She turns away, and he realises she’s giving him a moment to react where she can’t see him, and he’s suddenly so grateful. And a little comforted at the way his heart thumps in his chest at her thoughtfulness and the soft way her smile shifts in response.

Before he can get too worried about being tangled up with such a... weirdly _nice_ Jedi, he suddenly remembers his rings and quickly locates the pocket of his pants. The secret pocket is still sewn neatly shut, and he all but breathes a sigh of relief as the two rings inside tumble out onto his palm.

He hadn’t lost them. Even with everything that’s happened, he still has these. That feels important, somehow.

He realises he’s been standing there staring at them for awhile when Lieca speaks, evidently having turned around again. “You know, it might be safer for your rings if you wore them,” she says gently.

He can’t help the way his left hand clenches, feeling his jaw tense from frustration. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” he says angrily, and Lieca looks down for a moment, a whisper of apology rippling through their bond for her carelessness. It’s so weird, and yet... so comforting.

If he wore his ring on his left hand, he might never have seen it again, lost to Korriban along with his arm and his relationship with his - his _brother_.

She looks back up at him after a moment, expression still carefully neutral. “They are lovely rings though. They must be important.”

His ears burn, suddenly realising she might actually recognise Calli’s ring. She seems the type to notice little details like that. “This one just doesn’t fit,” he says hastily, slipping it back into his pocket.

There’s something cautious in her expression now, and he wonders what she’s getting to. “The other looks like it would fit perfectly though.”

He hisses, closing his fingers over Thexan’s ring. “It belongs to a dead man,” he says harshly. “No-one else should wear it.”

He doesn’t need to see her to be able to feel the sympathy she’s all but projecting, and it just makes him feel more ill. He doesn’t want to talk about Thexan. Ever. Screaming at her about him right before he tried to kill her on Asylum was enough.

Her presence seems to move back, and he feels her gently closing herself off as she does so. “I want to show you something,” she says finally, moving over to the console in the middle of the room. She presses some sort of switch, and the room is suddenly darkened and swirling with more lights than he can count. “Jahlia does love her toys.”

There’s something oddly soothing about the display, and it takes him a few moments to recognise what he’s looking at. “A map of the galaxy,” he says, trying not to feel as though he’s ruining it somehow by standing in the middle.

Lieca nods, the stars reflecting off her eyes, and moves towards the other side of the room before tapping a single orb of light. “This is where we are now,” she says. “Nar Shaddaa. One of Hutta’s many moons. It’s a place I do not particularly enjoy visiting, but when needs must.”

He grunts. “You do seem the type more for serene landscapes than this hive,” he says, fingers hesitantly reaching for the light he thinks lines up with Manaan. “You have a home here.”

She seems a little surprised at his words, but her smile still seems genuine, even as she ignores his knowledge of her history. “I do prefer a library to a battlefield, it’s true. I was always more of a scholar than a warrior, even when I was a little girl. Cera was always the more active one. It’s how they used to tell us apart.”

He scowls, eyes drawn to Zakuul, and instinctively noticing the flaws in the map in that sector. Should he say something about it? “How lucky for you to be allowed that choice,” he says flatly. He’s starting to feel like she’s leading up to something, unsure if that sensation is his intuition or some sort of insight into her personality. “What use were scholarly pursuits when you were created to be a weapon?”

When she doesn’t answer, he looks back and she’s looking away, standing in the Core with her hands gently cupped around Tython. “Well then, I suppose there’s no better time than the present. When you were younger, what areas of study did you enjoy before your teachers decided for you?”

It’s extremely unsettling how she doesn’t seem perturbed by his words and is still able to read him so easily. He huffs. “It doesn’t matter. That was decades ago.”

She steps closer, the movement all but pressing Tython into her heart. “You must have had something you enjoyed,” she persists. “I always enjoyed history, and Cera’s favourite lessons were cooking and mathematics. We used to swap places in our exams.”

Despite himself he smiles at the image. “I... I preferred the sciences,” he says quietly, eyes on the pirate world Rishi. “Th….Thexan was better at everything else.”

She makes a soft noise but is otherwise silent for a long moment, hands moving around the other lights. “When I was little, the Jedi Masters always used to talk about how great a Jedi Cera was going to be,” she says at last. “She was quick and strong and charming. Full of life and either your best friend or your worst enemy. Even before... everything that happened at Coruscant, I knew the Jedi expected great things from her.”

She takes a deep breath. “I was never left alone, and Cera and I have always been close, but it was... hard, to see the expectations they had for her. Equal parts worried and terrified and yes, jealous. Master Satele was the one who saw how upset I was, and showed me that my own abilities were just as important, that my worth was not contingent on my sister,” she continues before giggling. “She always used to say that my sweetness was a way to protect Cera’s acid tongue. That we needed each other to be the best that we could be, that we both had skills to focus on. Just different skills.”

Her attention is drawn to a planet he doesn’t recognise, in the same sector as Zakuul. “Even when... when I was in the vaults, I could feel her out here,” she says, fingers hesitantly touching the orb of light. “Some days, when... everything became a bit too... too much, I tried to hide from her, but she would never have any of it. Our Force bond... sometimes it’s a little inconvenient, but it’s comforting, feeling her like a second heartbeat.”

He swallows down his angry retort, fingers clenching around his brother’s ring, and Lieca suddenly moves. “I can still feel Nadia too, but it’s much fainter,” she says, touching another orb and he takes a moment to recall her former Padawan and infer that the world she’s touching is Sarkhai. “Cera says it’s the same with Kira, though of course as she’s closer at the moment, it’s much stronger. Annoyingly so, according to Kira.”

He huffs, bitterness on his tongue. “You can feel each other’s bonds?”

She nods. “Faintly - only if I’m really concentrating. I very rarely notice anything from Kira but if I’m meditating, or actively searching for her, I can sense a general... awareness I suppose. Why? Is it different for you? Can you feel any of them through me?”

He points to the planet she gestured to earlier, as Cera’s location during the time he had her frozen in carbonite. “Is that where your sister was?” he says bluntly.

The note of hesitance in her eyes is what he deserves, but it still hurts. But she surprises him, and nods. “Odessen. It’s our home now,” she confirms quietly.

Something about that place seems almost familiar, like hearing a familiar chime at the idea of it… “Who is there?”

She frowns. “I’m sorry?”

He huffs again. “There is something there. Now that I think of it I... I know that place. But I don’t know it myself, someone else does. It’s like... feeling it through a sheet, or some other material that obscures the image. Who are you connected to that is there?”

She shakes her head, but the note of understanding in her eyes makes him a little suspicious. “No-one. Cera and I are not bonded to any others on Odessen.”

He frowns. “Perhaps I am wrong,” he bites out, the words bitter on his tongue. He can almost hear his father’s ghost laughing at him, for all that Lieca’s expression does not change. “It... would not be the first time today.”

She tilts her head at him in confusion, but he refuses to elaborate. He does not want to think on Calli, at all. No matter that he is still burning in every place she touched him.

Lieca suddenly coughs, and even in the lower light of the room she appears to be blushing. “Arcann? I mean this in the greatest respect but, um... could you please maybe keep those thoughts to yourself? You and... my sister are free to do as you both want... and think of it as you like... but I do not particularly wish to bare witness to it.”

He stares at her for a moment before comprehension sets in, and he leaps backwards in horror, taking out Korriban with his flailing arm. “Gah!”

Silence reigns for a long moment while he tries to remember how to close off the connection, for lack of a better phrase, and Lieca clearly relaxes as he does so. “Thank you,” she says politely, cheeks still rather pink.

He grumbles, folding his arms over Dromund Kaas. “I apologise,” he says stiffly, fairly sure his own cheeks are equally bright. As though he had not made enough of a fool of himself.

She shakes her head, her normal sweet disposition reasserting itself. “It’s fine,” she says gently. “Though if you wished to redirect the conversation, I am afraid you will not be so lucky.”

“Hmm?”

Lieca sighs and moves back to cup Odessen in her hands. “If you feel a connection to Odessen, but neither myself nor Cera are connected to anyone there... why do you think that is?”

His mind instantly shies away from the conclusion it’s trying to draw. It’s _not_ him. He’s _dead_. “I would imagine your husbands or children,” he says quickly, stepping back again.

She shakes her head. “Arcann. You know that both my husband and Cera’s husband are blind to the Force,” she says, sounding vaguely disapproving. “And despite your own skills, you would not be able to get through the shields I have over my daughter and nieces. Try again.”

He puffs up, a little offended. “I could certainly make it through the shields if I wished to-” he starts hotly.

“That would be rather impolite, and unwise,” she interrupts, a note of steel in her voice.

He growls. “Despite your insistence, you know damn well that I am capable of the brute force required to push through and-”

“ _Arcann_.”

He looks over at the Jedi again to find her almost glaring at him, bright blue eyes narrowed, and the resemblance to her youngest sister is suddenly striking. “I accept that you are trying to find your place and that you feel frustration at the reversal of roles but - posturing or not - you _will not_ threaten my family in the process. Is that understood?”

He blinks at her, a little thrown by the sudden note of warning crackling in the air. It’s hard to remember sometimes that this woman is more than a soft-hearted diplomat - but this is not one of those times. Father had to choose her for a reason, after all. Well, a reason other than that she had been the only other one in the room at the time, and Father clearly didn’t approve of him.

But he can’t quite help himself, he wants to push. Stop her being so nice to him, force her to tell him what she _really_ thinks of him.

He’s already dealt with Calli’s blunt rejection, what’s one more?

“ _Arcann_. Is that understood?”

He swallows, fingers itching for the lightsaber that her sister is holding in the other room, and Lieca’s expression falls as though she can tell. He’s not affected at all. He wants to be better but he can’t just... flick a switch and suddenly learn to deal with these sorts of conversations?

He was Emperor! He bowed to no-one! No one guilted him into anything!

But Lieca’s fierce blue eyes, at once both defiant and sad, don’t leave his face and he feels something within him crumble a little at the pressure. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet. “Fine,” he mutters, the only apology he can make himself say at the moment.

She nods politely in response. “Well, at least I know that you are more gracious in losing an argument than most of our children,” she says dryly.

He frowns, and an awkward silence settles over the room. He’s just about to turn and leave, certain he’s offended Lieca too much for her to want to be in his presence, when she sighs. “Arcann?”

He stiffens instantly. “Yes?”

She’s looking at him again, a slight frown on her face. “I know you don’t wish to talk about it... but we will be heading home tomorrow, and it can’t be helped any longer. You know why you have a connection to Odessen.”

He takes a step away from her, panic all but freezing his blood. He does _not want_ to have this conversation! “No-” he starts.

But she speaks over him, her tone gentle but firm. “I would not do you the disservice of speaking of this on the way to Odessen, and this must be addressed before we arrive there.”

He shakes his head, taking another step back. “I don’t want to hear it-”

“Arcann.”

He stares at her, desperately willing her not to say it. “Please,” he says quietly, the words completely foreign on his tongue. “Please, don’t-”

“Thexan is alive.”

He shudders, recoiling away from her, but there’s nowhere to go and she’s standing in front of the only exit to the room. In a brief moment of clarity he tries to remember if he saw her move there, and realises she had gently been maneuvering him around the room so that she was between him and the door.

Clever.

He shakes his head, turning away from her. “No,” he says firmly. “He-he _can’t_. It’s... it’s _not real_ , he’s a _lie_ and you’re just trying to-”

“Arcann.”

He wonders how she knows that her using his name tends to calm him down, a reminder that she sees him as a _person_ and not the _Emperor_. The tone is more gentle than he’s used to from anyone else and it’s... comforting.

Until she says that the twin brother he killed was still alive. That’s far less comforting.

“You’re lying!”

Her expression is soft when he dares to glance back. “Why would I lie?”

He starts pacing, his head starting to ache from everything he’s trying to shove back inside. “You just want to manipulate me. Lies. Republic lies! Yours is a _pretender_ , and I will not allow this insult!”

“You were the one who decided to steal treats from the kitchens, and you always picked your own favourites to share with Thexan so that you would always get the blame. Even if it was his idea.”

He whirls around to stare at her, his eyes wide, and her expression hasn’t changed. “You were the one who wanted to build your first lightsabers in the dead of night. But Thexan succeeded first. You were both so gleeful you almost broke it immediately.”

Memories that only he and Thexan had. “ _Liar_ -” he hisses, but she doesn’t stop.

“You told everyone your favourite colour was gold, but told Thexan it was secretly green - you wanted to always remember the swamps you ran away to as children.”

“That’s just a guess-”

“He was the one that held your hand when your arm was replaced on Korriban.”

“Everyone knew that! And-”

“You and Thexan always swapped rings, and when you were seperated, you had his and he had yours. He still wears it on his hand.”

He’s horrified to realise he’s nearly crying. “Stop it-”

“And ever since you realised your bond with me, you’ve noticed another bond, hidden deep within your heart. And if you concentrate, you can feel him as though it was yesterday and you cling to it as fast as you try to push it away.”

Her expression then changes and he realises she’s nearly crying too. “And it’s so terrifying to think that it might not be severed - not because it means he is alive, but… because it means that he hasn’t given up on you.”

Arcann broke.

He knows he should never reveal his weakness in front of his enemy and he’s been taught to hide his emotions his entire life. Control is the only acceptable response, any outbursts of an emotional nature were to be locked away, certainly never seen or felt. Bashing on the doors of his room as a teenager, sobbing as his twin was taken away from him - it was the last time Father had bothered to address his feelings on the matter, and the only response was a cold dismissal. The idea of letting go like that, of letting anyone else see him at his weakest - _no_. He _cannot_ do it.

But she’s not his enemy and this... he never expected this. How is he supposed to control himself with this news? Thexan should _hate_ him. He should scream at him, insult him, never want anything more to do with him. He deserves that, and worse. Let his twin cut him down, for a crime he can never forgive.

He collapses onto the couch just behind him (he wonders vaguely if Lieca arranged that too, somehow), and notices with a sense of detachment that Lieca sits beside him, the bright blue fabric of her skirts pooling on the couch in his peripheral vision.

He can feel the echo of his heartbeat getting stronger, _feel_ his-his _brother’s_ concern rise, and it’s all _too much_.

He brings his hands to his head, clutching desperately at his temples as though to force his thoughts and the tears running down his cheeks back inside. Thexan is _dead_ , Thexan should _hate_ him, Thexan should _blame_ him, he _does not deserve him_.

He starts rocking on the chair, trying to maintain the control that is the only thing he knows, and yet more tears escape. And he can still _feel_ something inside his heart trying to comfort him and he _cannot do this_.

He seals everything again, barely even aware of what he is doing, and hears Lieca gasp to his left. The Force prickles along his skin and a light shield springs up around them, and he wonders how much of it was her instincts to protect herself, or both of them.

But when nothing happens she hesitantly brings her hand up to rest on his shoulder, and he shudders at the well-meaning touch. People do not touch him in comfort, they only touch him for sex or for medical reasons. He does not like it.

After a moment he feels her shift on the couch, the sound surprisingly loud in his roaring ears, and her voice is pitched even lower than before as though she knows how much his head is already aching, even with the bond temporarily sealed. “If it makes you uncomfortable, please let me know and I will move.”

He does not want her touching him. But he also does not want her to move away.

He does not want to be alone. Again. Still.

So her hands stays where it is, and she eventually squeezes lightly. “Arcann. Please. You need to breathe. Look at me.”

He can’t move his head. He can’t stop _thinking_.

Thexan is alive. Thexan is _dead_. Thexan lives. Thexan _should be dead. Why isn’t Thexan dead? Why did Thexan never come home. Why didn’t he believe. How could he believe._

“Breathe in. Breathe out. Just like that. You don’t need to move, but you do need to breathe. Please.”

He reluctantly follows along with her voice, knowing that she’s just trying to help. And breathing slowly does help. But he’s not going to move. Ever.

Thexan lives. Thexan _should be dead_.

He does flinch though when Lieca’s holo suddenly chimes, the sound unnaturally loud in the room, and she mutters something under her breath about biscuits before it turns off, presumably with the Force. “Sorry,” she says quickly, sounding a little sheepish.

They sit in relative silence for a long while, and he loses track of most things other than her voice calmly reminding him to breathe every once in awhile. When he can finally work up the courage to speak, his voice cracks. “ _How_?” he rasps, speaking to the floor.

Lieca pauses. She’s rubbing his shoulder a little now, in tiny circles, and it’s actually quite comforting as long as he doesn’t think about the fact that someone is touching him. “You will have to ask him for the full details,” she says softly. “From what I understand, he survived on the orders of... the former Emperor. As for your bond, well…. like he said before, on Asylum, it was probably half-destroyed by him, and partially blocked by you in your grief.”

It’s easy to notice that she also avoids using Valkorion’s name, and when he finally turns his head to look at her, there’s a little flicker of terror in her eyes. It’s strange to think that she fears his father too. For so long, he thought she and his father were working together to bring him down but... now he’s realising that was ridiculous.

She smiles slightly at his attention, before looking away thoughtfully for a moment. “And I suspect the moment you realised you were bonded with me - and that we could feel some of each other’s thoughts even through your panicked safeguards - that you relaxed, and your other bonds were allowed to connect again. You opened your heart a little, and it was enough for a caring brother to jump back in. It’s a lot of theory for something that so intertwines all of our lives.”

She then looks back, tilting her head at him. “And I also suspect that part of you knew all along... but that it was easier to pretend until you had no choice but to accept it. Would I be right?”

He grunts, panic swirling again, and looks back down. “Tell me about him. Anything.”

 

* * *

 

Calli huffs, fiddling with her makeup in the mirror, and trying to straighten her lashes.

The day passed all too quickly, and its night before any of them really know it. Between Acina and brutal almost assassinations and _Arcann_ and... fuck she really needs a vacation. But she’ll settle for drinks with Vitalia as a backup. Much better to get out of this house than spend more time awkwardly avoiding Arcann. At least he’s been in his room most of the day, only venturing out to speak to Lieca for a while before retreating again.

Not that she’s keeping tabs on him. That would be weird. She just noticed him walking around while she was playing cards with Jahlia’s daughter Ariadne, that’s all.

She growls and slips her earrings in, pursing her lips in the mirror to check for lipstick smudges before turning on her heel and walking into the main room as though entering a battlefield.

It’s not far off - her sisters are playing dejarik, but both sets of identical blue eyes snap to hers when she walks in. Lieca’s expression actually changes, though Cera speaks before she can. “Going somewhere Cal?”

Calli nods. “Yeah, Tali wants to go get drinks. Seemed a good idea to me, and she said she’d pay. Why, you want me to bring you back something?”

Lieca purses her lips. “Calli, we are supposed to be staying here in case the GenoHaradan are still out there looking for us,” she says pleadingly.

Cera nods. “Yeah - Acina might’ve offed Lorman, but we haven’t heard anything from our networks about Saresh, so who knows if there’s another crew coming. Lorman was just the middleman after all - and not a bright one at that, honestly. No wonder Saresh could play him like a fiddle.”

“ _Cera_.”

“What?! You know I’m right Liss!”

Lieca shakes her head, looking more amused now. “Anyway - we’re just worried darling. What if something happens?”

Calli rolls her eyes, blatantly posing with her legs apart and flicking up her too short skirt to reveal the mini blasters strapped to her upper thighs. “I’m not completely defenceless, sis,” she says sarcastically. “I’ve kinda been here before. I wasn’t exactly gonna go strolling through the back alleys with no weapons, come on.”

Before she can say anything else, she’s thrown off by a sudden bout of coughing nearby and whips her head around to see Arcann leaning against the wall, arms folded and face tinged red as he looks away from them. He blends in with the wall far too easy in his plain brown robes, honestly.

And she had just given him a front row view of her bare legs. Fantastic.

Dismissing him entirely, she turns back to her sisters. “Besides, I’m not going by myself either,” she says hotly, ignoring the way her face burns. “Also, I’m nearly fucking thirty, I don’t need _permission_ to go outside this house!”

Lieca frowns, and Cera sighs. “Look, at least cover up your hair. They will looking for us and only us, most likely - but like it or not, you do look a lot like us and the red hair’s kind of a giveaway, babe.”

She rolls her eyes again, huffing as she stomps back to her room, re-emerging a few minutes later with a dark wavy wig and a distinctly lower neckline. “There! Better, your mighty majesties?”

Lieca looks concerned, probably at her tone because she’s such a fucking peacemaker, but Cera waves her hand. “Yes yes, all fine. Make sure to stab anyone that falls into your chest for me, alright?”

She salutes sarcastically. “Aw, Cera, you know me so well.”

But even after escaping from her family and finally running into Vitalia (and Jonas, who earned his way into the good books for interrupting their girls night by buying her her favourite whiskey in the first round), she’s still not quite settled.

It’s a few hours later that Jonas is leaning on the bar while Vitalia quite blatantly ogles his ass from their small table, even with her head at the weird angle her current lounging posture is causing. Calli hides her laugh in her glass, absentmindedly scanning the other bar patrons.

Vitalia suddenly manages to tear her eyes off her partner to gesture rather enthusiastically towards the other end of the bar. “Oooh, what about her?”

Calli sighs, following her line of sight. “Oh come off it Tal, she’s already got like three people hanging off of her. I don’t want to compete, that’s too much _work_ for this much alcohol!”

Vitalia taps her chin with her finger, her speculative expression at her next choice enough like her little brother’s that Calli smiles again. “Fine, question my taste why don’t you. What about that hunk over there?”

Calli shakes her head. “Too skinny. Not all of us want stick-men Vitalia. And besides, no-one says hunk anymore.”

The Mirialan waves her off absently, but she can’t quite hide her pout. “Alright, that one!”

She shakes her head again. “Ugh, no. He’s not even that cute!”

Vitalia sighs and flops dramatically across the lounge just as Jonas comes back, looking amused at her antics. “I won’t even ask,” he says with an easy smile. “But hey, think the bartender’s sweet on you. Extra drinks without even asking.”

Vitalia perks up, and he chuckles. “Not you babe, I meant Calli. Though I’m sure he thinks you’re very impressive, yes.”

Vitalia swats his shoulder, and Calli smirks into her glass again before her friend speaks. “Fine then, the bartender! You said you wanted a distraction, he’d be good for at least one round eh?”

She shrugs. “Only one? Can’t I aim higher?”

Vitalia’s eyebrow rises. “Sure you can,” she drawls, and whiskey suddenly starts shooting an alarm in Calli’s head at the change in tone. “But normally you’re not this fussy. What’s gotten into you, babe?”

Her cheeks heat at the flash of memory of kissing Arcann today, and she drinks again to try to cover it. “Nothing,” she lies.

Vitalia frowns and shares some sort of look with Jonas before turning back to her. “Alright, I’m game. You wanted to come out, you wanted to talk. Hit me.”

She shoots a vaguely panicked look at Jonas. “No no, everything is fine!”

He immediately moves his hands into the air in surrender. “Don’t look at me! I’m out!” he says quickly, getting out of his chair. “Hmm, what’s Theron always say: ‘ _there’s a contact I need to meet_ ’?”

Both girls snicker, and Vitalia waves him off. “Don’t kiss anyone I wouldn’t!” she says cheerily, blowing a kiss to him.

He catches it and moves his hand to his ass. “Way to not narrow it down at all, babe,” he responds with a flash of teeth, winking before disappearing into the crowd.

Vitalia sighs dreamily after him, and before Calli can try to make her escape too, she’s got an arm around her neck. “Spill girl!”

“There’s nothing to spill!”

“Yeah, okay, and I’m the King of Ferelden.”

“What?”

Vitalia waves her off. “Fantasy series, you wouldn’t know it. Anyway! What’s got you all out of sorts… oh. _Ohhhhhh_ …”

Okay, that’s a little flare of blind panic. “What ‘ _oh_ ’? There’s nothing to ‘ _oh_ ’!”

_“You totally banged that idiot again, didn’t you?!”_

“No!” she hisses, face bright red. “Oh my fucking gods above, I did _not_ bang him again!”

“You squeaked! Oh my stars you totally want to!”

“No!” she shrieks, desperately trying to find common sense among the whiskey. Reason, she has a good reason… somewhere. “Besides, when would I have had time? You know, with all that almost murder and stuff?

Vitalia still looks like a nexu cub that caught a trinket bird. “Oh that’s _right_ , he _totally_ saved your life today, didn’t he? I saw the reports. Did you _swoooon_ Calli?”

“I did not _swoon_!”

Vitalia ignores her, adopting a sing-song tone. _“I can see what’s happening, and they don’t have a-”_

“I swear to Scyva herself if you continue singing that song I will _end you_.”

Vitalia surprisingly does quieten in the face of that threat, and she wonders if something slipped through that she didn’t want to. “Calli,” she starts eventually, far softer than before.

She winces. “What?” She forgets how easily both Abelli siblings can switch to serious when the occasion calls for it - even if those occasions are the main reason she loves them so much, for knowing when to play and when to be serious.

Vitalia’s arm tightens around her. “Honey, I know... I know what happened before wasn’t great. He hurt you a lot, and you know, we’ll all happily beat him into paste for daring to do so. But... if this is something you want... you shouldn’t let that stop you?,” she says quietly, before her usual cheeky smile hits. “Use him as much as you like, then kick him to the curb, but make sure he makes it up to you in the process. Repeatedly.”

Her face heats up again, and she buries her face in Vitalia’s shoulder. “I know,” she mumbles. “I still hate him. And you. But not as much. Just a bit.”

“Just think, you can use him for a couple more mind-blowing orgasms and then be done with him.”

“ _Tal_!”

The green hand on her arm tightens, and she feels her friend kiss her hair. “I know babe. Love you too.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a few hours later again that she stumbles back to the estate, angrily taking a few tries to punch in the passcodes and doing a cheerful middle finger salute to the judgemental camera that zoomed down to take a picture of her face after the second fail.

Her head is still buzzing a little from the alcohol, and all she’s thinking about is collapsing on her bed and dealing with everything else tomorrow, so it almost frightens her out of her skin to hear a ‘ _good evening_ ’ coming from the previously-thought-empty room around her.

She avoids shrieking only from sheer force of will, covering her mouth with her hands as she spins in place to find Arcann seated nearby, pale blue eyes almost glowing in the room’s low lighting. “Hello,” he says, sounding a bit more uncertain at her scrutiny.

She glares at him. “You almost gave me a heart attack! What the fuck are you doing awake?” she hisses, hand moving over her racing heart.

He deflates a little, expression hard to read. “I could not sleep,” he says eventually. “I came out here to try to clear my head. The room is suffocating.”

“Little smaller than you’re used to?” she snarks. Who can forget the size of his bedroom - even his fucking refresher was bigger than the fucking ship she lived in as a teenager before signing on with Geralt. No, Calli, focus.

He hunches a little more before nodding. “Yes,” he answers bluntly. “But I don’t sleep much anyway.”

She folds her arms. “Oh? You seemed to sleep pretty damn soundly to me before.”

He blinks at her in surprise, and she moves her hands over her mouth again. Nope. Absolutely not talking about this now, _damn you whiskey_. He eventually looks down. “Yes, well, I have my moments,” he mutters glumly.

There’s a soft noise from nearby, and she spins again to see Lieca curled up on the couch, fast asleep and snuggling into her pillow. “What? What’s Liss doing here?”

Arcann winces. “She felt my distress and chose to follow me to address it,” he says quietly. “She refused to go back to bed, but fell asleep not too long ago. I tried not to disturb her further.”

She can’t quite help the way her heartbeat spikes, knowing her sister was alone with Arcann again. And with nobody else awake this time. Lieca looks so small, curled up there with her face all relaxed in sleep. “You better not hurt her again,” she says suddenly, turning back to look at him.

Arcann looks a little confused. “What?”

She glares at him, feeling considerably braver with her sister’s life at stake and the alcohol still buzzing along her blood. “You better not hurt my sister again,” she says again, this time slower and clearer. “You’ve done enough to her, and I won’t let you touch her again. You’ll be fucking sorry if you do, mark my words.”

He actually smiles slightly at her words, and it throws her off more than she would like to admit. “Your sisters said the same earlier, about you,” he says quietly.

She scoffs, trying to distract herself from his smile. “Yeah, well, that just means you really better watch it!” she snaps, pitching her voice lower when she realises Lieca’s forehead creases, presumably at the noise. She doesn’t want to wake her up. “I don’t know what you want, but it better not be hurting her again. And speaking of, what _are_ you doing here?”

He blinks. “I already told you, I could not sleep-”

“No, you _idiot_ , I mean with us. _Here_. Now. Why join us now after all the other shit you got up to? What are you playing at?”

He frowns. “I-”

She snarls, cutting him off. “Did you even apologise for trying to fucking kill her, or are you still in that snooty _I am the Emperor I’m always right blah blah blah_ mindset?”

“ _Snooty_?”

He has no right to sound so offended at that and she nods. “Yeah, _snooty_. It’s what we call pompous brats like you Mr _I’m just going to take over the galaxy for no reason woo-hoo_.”

“Now wait just a moment-”

She snorts. “Oh I’m sorry, didya have a reason? Trying to prove yourself to your deadbeat dad don’t count.”

He hunches over again and she feels a tiny bit bad for that. “You don’t understand-” he starts, voice tight, but she interrupts him again.

“You don’t see the rest of us becoming galactic dictators cause our parents didn’t love us,” she snaps, before she realises what she said and her eyes widen.

Arcann is staring at her. “...what?”

She waves the moment off, panic rising in her throat. “Whatever! You, just, argh! Doesn’t matter! Why are you here?”

“I do not have anywhere else to go.”

The frankness of his words throw her off again, and the silence hangs awkwardly for a while. “I... so we’re just the bottom of the barrel? That’s not good enough!”

He frowns, blue eyes snapping to hers. “Well what _is_ good enough then?”

She huffs at him. “Well something other than your last resort. If you don’t want to be here cause you want to do something different, well what’s the point?”

He finally stands up, and _stars_ she keeps forgetting how much taller he is. “You cannot expect me to just change overnight,” he says tightly. “Is it not enough that I am here?”

She scoffs. “No way! If you’re just here to be a dick and hurt us again, you can fuck right off! I know you never think things through, but you gotta have some reason for being here.”

He’s staring at her again, and she glares at him, folding her arms again. “What?”

He swallows. “I…”

“ _What_?”

He glares at her. “My family,” he says tightly. “I... thought Thexan was dead. That Mother didn’t care. I... am learning that I was... wrong. I... I need to see them. And... this is the way to do that.”

She scowls. “What about Vaylin? And Mr Creepypants _wooo-I’m-the-Sith-emperor-wooooo?_ ”

He looks at her in disbelief for a moment, before another tiny smile appears. “Ah. I… my father must be stopped. And Vaylin... the throne was never meant for her. I... I worry about her, there alone. She... she needs us, even if she won’t admit it.”

She grins. “Huh. You really do love your sister, don’t you?”

He flushes. “We are... not as close as you and your sisters but... whatever else, she is still family.”

Another long silence reigns before she tilts her head at him. “Also, you know, since your dad’s such a giant tosser, you don’t have to call him that. You can call him whatever you want. Trashorion. Valky-poo. Emperor Dickface. He doesn’t deserve to be called dad when he was such an asshole to you kids. Disown him.”

He huffs under his breath, and she realises a moment later that that was almost a chuckle from him. She wonders what it would take to make him actually laugh. “A nice idea, but... I do not wish him to retaliate against your sister. I suspect my presence here angers him enough and she does not deserve to be the target of his ire.”

She gasps theatrically. “Awww, see, you _can_ do something nice for other people!” she says cheerfully.

He stares at her again, and even in the room’s low lighting it looks like he might be blushing. “I…”

She waves him off before something else occurs to her. “Oh, and when did your eyes change colour? I thought that was some weird Force thing.”

Arcann frowns again. “I’m… sorry?”

She scowls. “Your eyes. They’re blue now, not all angry gold like before. You look more like Thexan now.”

He almost recoils as she says that. “That’s right, you know him,” he mumbles distractedly.

She shrugs. “Yeah, I do. I guess we’re friends? Hard to tell, I haven’t spent much time with him. Too busy running around cleaning up _your_ messes.”

He hangs his head for a moment, looking down at his mechanical arm. “And to answer your question, I do not know. I do not like mirrors. I have not seen my eyes since... since the flagship.”

She frowns. “Don’t like mirrors?”

He actually snarls, and it makes her jump. It’s not any sort of sexy growl or anything, it shouldn’t make her heart skip in anything other than fear. “Would you, if you had my face?” he snaps.

She folds her arms again, trying to calm herself down. “Pfft, it’s not that bad.”

He stops, looking up at her in confusion. “What?”

She shifts her weight to one hip, shrugging awkwardly. “It’s just scars. They’re not that bad.”

He’s staring at her again, and it’s just a little unsettling. “What?” she asks.

“You... don’t find them disgusting?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Eh? Should I?”

He sounds a little confused. “I... don’t know?”

The awkward silence is then interrupted by movement at the door, and they both turn to see Theron standing there propped up against the doorframe, clearly having tumbled out of bed due to his mashed-up hair and lack of shirt. “Hmm... Calli? Arcann? What are you guys doing? Have you seen Lieca?” he asks, yawning.

Calli points at the couch and Theron sighs. “I told her to wake me up when she’s having nightmares,” he muttered, moving over to kneel in front of his wife.

She wonders if Theron is even aware that he interrupted their conversation and awkwardly looks away from Arcann as Theron shakes Lieca’s shoulder. “Liss? Sweetheart? Come on, come back to bed.”

Her sister stirs grumpily, and she decides to make her escape while she can. “Well, um, goodnight everyone.”

Theron apparently ignores her, still mumbling to Lieca as he starts tucking her into his arms to carry her back to bed, but Arcann nods politely at her. “Goodnight, Callistra.”

Not really the answers she wanted from him, but they’ll have to do. Surely everything will be fine once they head home tomorrow?

Hopefully.


	32. Odessen III

Calli has _significant_ regrets about her drinking the next morning when they set out to head home. At least Jahlia and her family stayed behind, so she’s not dealing with an excitable child too, but _gods above_ her head really hurts.

She’s sitting on the bench in the main hold of Cera’s stolen merchant ship, pressing a cold compress to her head and groaning pathetically every few moments. Lieca apparently didn’t sleep much last night, so she’s still in her sleeping quarters with Theron curled up beside her - which also leaves Calli without a healer, and therefore no hangover cure.

Cedrax is joining them for the trip back home - after a rather joyful reunion with her sister, and amused babbling at Arcann about the tech used for his arm that he still seems confused by almost an hour later. But thankfully, for all that he’s a chatty asshole normally, he’s also elected to hole up in his own berth instead of socialise, probably calling Holiday by the pull on the bandwidth she’s detecting on her datapad. Thank fuck, too, her head really couldn’t cope with Cedrax’s elaborate manner of conversation right now.

T7 is still happily trundling up and down the halls of the ship in a manner that she imagines the droid thinks is quite subtle, but she doesn’t have the patience to think of it as funny right now. Maybe if her skull wasn’t currently trying to escape out of her head, she’d smirk and bite her lip to hide the laugh as T7 attempted to casually stroll past a bewildered Arcann for the nineteenth time. With Cera and the protocol droid piloting, T7 is her only buffer against being alone with Arcann. Again.

Maybe if she just ignores him, he won’t say anything.

Despite her massive hangover, she’s super glad she went out to see Vitalia last night. She loves her boys desperately, but she can’t exactly tell Bowdaar and Geralt everything that’s happened with Arcann. They are sweet and kind and loving but also a liiiiiittle too protective sometimes. But she’s known Vitalia since she was eight years old, and the Mirialan easily filled the role of an older sister once they got their friendship sorted. She was there to talk about her first kiss, her first heist, her first job, her first ship, her first legal drink… Vitalia knows everything about her life, even the parts she won’t tell anyone else. Vitalia will tease, but she also knows exactly when to listen, and is less likely to punch the problem than her brother. She still remembers the blow up after the whole Skavak debacle, though she’s fairly sure shooting that jackass in the groin and leaving him to die on a ship sinking into a black hole was a little more intense than Geralt’s more immediate plans for the man (had he even been conscious at the time, the idiot).

But Vitalia will let her explain why Arcann made her feel so hurt before, and why she feels so confused now. Vitalia understands just how easily someone can build her up and knock her down, and not judge her for how messed up she gets in her own head sometimes. Vitalia will sagely nod and say she understands when Calli says she kissed Arcann the day before, and then ran.

She knows _better_ than this, to let some bastard in close after they hurt her. No-one else has had more than one chance. She’s cut people loose for a lot less than Arcann did to her, to her family. And in all honesty, he’s probably had like a million people since her anyway. His penchant for sleeping his way through Zakuulan high society was well-known, after all. It’s not like he would have any particular reason to want to be around her, to _want her_.

Probably just kissed her back to be polite or something, figured it was safer to play along with the woman whose family literally holds his life in their hands, and the thought suddenly makes her feel ill. She doesn’t want him to think his future and safety is dependent on her happiness… even if, considering her friends and the precarious nature of his presence in the Alliance, it kind of is. But it’s less ‘ _make her happy even if you don’t want to, because your life depends on it_ ’ and more ‘ _if you start anything, don’t hurt her or we’ll hurt you_ ’.

She doesn’t want him to play along just because she wants him to.

... not that she wants him to, of course, but _if_ she wanted him to. Or something.

... her head really hurts.

She groans loudly, dramatically throwing herself backwards to lie down across the bench, the compress still pressed to her head. Why does everything just fucking _suck_ right now?

“Are you alright?”

The deep voice would normally be soothing - if it came from anyone other than her personal nemesis and if she didn’t have a splitting headache. “Do I _look_ alright?” she snaps, not even bothering to lift the cold cloth from her face to glare at him. “You have eyes, use them!”

Before he gets a chance to answer, her holo chimes and she pulls it out of her pocket, lifting the cover over her eyes briefly to glare at it before turning it off and letting it fall to the floor. “Nope, not dealing with this now, _GO AWAY_ ,” she whines pitifully.

She hears a coughed chuckle from the other side of the room, and lifts the compress again to glare at Arcann balefully. “Hey, this is not funny!”

His expression is carefully blank as soon as he notices her looking, lifting up one hand to rub his shoulder. “Of course not,” he says politely.

She flops down again. “If your shoulder is bothering you, you should go see Lieca. That’s more important than my hangover,” she mutters, trying not to let her hurt show. Well, _obviously_ an actual injury is more important than her self-inflicted one, and _obviously_ she’s not going to bother Lieca for something so small, but just… it twists something in her heart regardless, and can this day just be fucking over yet?

Arcann shakes his head. “No, it is not that,” he answers, looking almost confused. “I am not used to my shoulder... working, as it were.”

She huffs, covering her eyes again. “It worked perfectly well when you started stabbing everyone,” she replies pointedly.

He answers far quicker than she expected, sounding rather annoyed. “Yes, and then you _shot me_ and melted it. My surgeons had not been able to entirely correct the damage before I was taken into Alliance custody.”

“Well, _maybe_ if you weren’t a colossal dick, I wouldn’t have _shot you_ ,” she scowls.

“I- what? Oh, you mean... never mind.”

She rolls her eyes under the compress. “You’re just lucky it was only your shoulder,” she says primly. “I’ve done worse to less stupid people.”

“ _Stupid_?” Now he really sounds offended.

“Yeah, _stupid_.”

“If I am so stupid, why did you kiss me?” he snaps heatedly.

The silence that lingers after that makes her feel like he didn’t exactly intend to ask that question, but that doesn’t really help her nerves. “What?” she squeaks. “Well, why did _you_ kiss _me_?”

… wow, that was a fantastic answer Calli, good job.

“Because I wanted to.”

She pauses, trying to ignore the way her stomach lurches at his answer. It’s somehow easier to have this conversation with her eyes covered so she can’t see his unfairly pretty eyes. “Wait, do you mean the very first time, or yesterday?”

He sounds a little bemused when he answers. “Is there a difference?”

Okay, that wasn’t entirely what she’d expected at all. “Yes!” she snaps, immediately wincing at even her own volume. “Your reputation for ‘ _love ‘em and leave ‘em_ ’ is pretty damn well known, boyo. Not like repeat performances are your thing after all.”

“Was that your intention then?”

Fucking stars, he sounds way too smug; she doesn’t even want to think about what might have transpired had they not been interrupted, she decides it’s easier to ignore the question. “I just... never mind.”

She’s fully prepared to just ignore him from here until the end of existence, but his voice is softer when he speaks again, sounding concerned, and she’s not at all prepared for this. “What is it?”

She huffs, super glad that she doesn’t have to look him in the eye while they’re having this conversation. “I just... well, you were all concerned with the whole power dynamic thing before, yeah? Well, even though you could still easily crush me into paste if you wanted to, my family... it’s all reversed now, isn’t it? I don’t... I don’t want you to do anything because you think it’s what we want. You’re a fucking idiot and you did some really dumb shit and a lot of people aren’t going to be happy with you - but it’s still your body, your rules.”

He’s silent for a long while. “Are you... worried you are taking advantage of me?”

His tone is impossible to read and she scowls, glad her eyes are covered but fairly sure her cheeks are burning pink. “Sure, just tease when I’m trying to be serious. It’s fine. Sure.”

“... I did not mean to cause offence.”

She sighs. “Well, neither did I. So, I’m sorry.”

He sounds vaguely alarmed. “Sorry? For what?”

She waves her hand vaguely, sure the gesture loses some of its meaning when she’s lying on a bench and refusing to look at him and acting like she’s dying. “For, you know…”

“For kissing me, or for running away?”

His smug attitude is really getting on her nerves, and she’s about to give him a piece of her mind when her holo suddenly trills again; she almost cries at the spike in her headache. “Ow!”

Moving her hand to her head takes precious time away from her ability to turn off the comm as she fumbles around for it on the floor. And of course, because she’s totally the most coordinated person in the galaxy, she drops it back on the floor and she bites her lip, trying to blindly turn away from the noise and resigning herself to the fact that she’s just going to have to survive the noise until the caller gives up.

To her surprise - and relief - it suddenly stops, the caller apparently having abandoned their chances early. But as she flails to try to find it, something twinges in her neck, her muscles protested at the bad angle; her headache spikes almost immediately at the spark of pain and she curls in on herself, moaning pitifully.

Then, the last thing she was expecting happens.

Someone uses the Force to heal her.

Her eyes snap open beneath the compress, and she surges into a sitting position, even as the unmistakable feeling of the Force sweeps over her skin like cool water, sinking into her body and chasing away the persistent ache behind her eyes. The cold cloth falls to the floor, to where the holocomm lies abandoned, and she realises with a quick glance at the flashing light that it wasn’t a missed call - it was a rejected call. The comm got turned off.

She stares at Arcann across the room, something nervously fluttering in her belly.

His arm is still outstretched towards her holo, but he seems startled by how fast she moved to sit up. “What is it?” he asks hesitantly.

She swallows, the Force retreating as quickly as she felt it appear. The headache rouses a little as the pleasant coolness retreats, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was a moment ago. “Did you do that?” she says, her voice a little too high-pitched for comfort.

He looks between her and her comm unit, looking hopelessly confused. “I wanted to help,” he says quietly. “Did you... I’m sorry, did you actually want to take that call?”

Such a powerful person should not look so cowed by her displeasure, and it throws her off a bit. Well, okay, fine, he _was_ an Emperor, and he’s now _technically_ their prisoner, but he still exudes a similar... _presence_ to the way he was before, so it’s hard for her mind to reconcile the two. “I... no, I meant my head. What are you doing?”

If possible he looks even more confused, and even a little hurt. “I am not doing anything to your head,” he snaps. “I do not wish to - to _force_ you into, into... _anything_.”

It’s the emphasis he places on the force that makes her realise what he means, all the old whispers of Force users who can bend others to their will. She’s a little touched that he thought to clarify that - although it could be a weak defence, his tone makes her believe him, that he’s trying to reassure her. More memories of the night they met, and him awkwardly telling her that he preferred his partners to be willing. He of course meant those that genuinely desired him over those that chose him purely for his title but…

She wonders suddenly if any of his past lovers claimed the Force as their reason for being with him, and feels a little sad for him. Just for a moment. “No, I... it’s not that sensation. I know that one.” He sits up a little straighter, a spark in his eyes that looks a little bit like anger, and it throws her off. He can’t possibly be angry at her admitting to having been messed with by Force-users in the past... can he? “It feels like Lieca, when she’s trying to be all sweet and healing me.”

The flare of anger fades, but he still has a sour expression on his face; presumably he finds her assumption that he’s trying to heal someone he should still really be seeing as his enemy as nothing short of an accusation. “As I have already told multiple people, I _do not_ know how to use the Force to heal,” he says crossly. “Regardless of my... no matter. It is not a skill amongst my people. I had no opportunity to learn that I cared to take advantage of.”

Okay, but she _knows_ what she felt, and her headache is definitely weaker. Arcann definitely healed her. Which is... super not something she’s feeling a bit swoony about, because she doesn’t swoon, and besides - Lieca heals her all the time but she’s never swooned at that. But if he doesn’t want to talk about it and wants to pretend it didn’t happen, fine. Something else then. “What opportunity did you ignore then?” she asks curiously, folding her legs under her on the bench.

The anger flares again, and the sight of those magnificent pale blue eyes narrowed in fury makes her recoil slightly, even if the anger isn’t directed at her. “ _Scions_ ,” he all but spits. “Slaves to prophecy, who care little for those their words affect. Healing is not technically unknown to them, but it is not encouraged. It would have been the only avenue available to learn if possible. They claimed greater mastery of multiple aspects of Force study, which in turn fueled their arrogance.”

She swallows down her fear and lifts her chin defiantly. “I don’t think that makes it okay for you to have killed them all though.”

Arcann’s eyes snap up to hers, and his expression almost makes her want to shrink back. “You do not understand,” he starts heatedly, and instead she glares at him, gathering all of her courage.

“Killing a bunch of people just because they disagreed with you is _exactly_ the reason so many people in the galaxy really don’t like you,” she interrupts flatly. “You nearly _killed_ my sister. How many sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers did you actually kill just among the Scions, let alone everyone else in the bloody galaxy?”

He’s staring again, his expression a little less angry, and her courage falters; she wraps her arms around herself. “How many people joined us just because you turned on the people they loved?”

The silence is pretty fucking awkward, and he looks away from her instantly, staring at the floor again before he finally speaks. “They hurt Thexan,” he says slowly, his voice only a hair short of broken. “They foresaw... they knew _everything_. And they _let it happen_. They let my father... they let _me_ …”

She swallows, her own throat feeling like closing at the grief in his voice. “You know Thexan’s not mad, right?” she says softly.

It takes a long moment before he answers, the silence so heavy that she can feel it pressing down on her. “He should be,” he answers dully, still not looking up.

The silence falls again, because, well... what exactly is she supposed to say to that? It’s so much easier when he’s just an arrogant, powerful asshole, because she can just hate him and roll her eyes at him and bitch with Vitalia about how attractive he is without a care. But this? A frightened, brittle man who was consumed with regret and grief and outright fear, his doubts so monumental that if she’d been in his shoes, she had no doubt she would have buckled under the weight of them by now? What the fuck is she supposed to do with that?

Especially since he’s still attractive when he isn’t being an asshole. That is distinctly unfair.

She laughs weakly after a few long moments. “Guess we really need to find a better way to channel your protective instincts, eh?” she mutters, but he apparently chooses to ignore her.

Luckily, before the silence drags on too long there’s a soft knock from the entrance to the room, and they both turn their heads to see Lieca standing there, looking far more relaxed in her comfortable robes than her fancy dresses from the day before. “Hello,” she says cheerfully.

Calli all but jumps off the bench, immediately wincing and pressing her hand to her forehead in the process. “Lieca! You’re supposed to be sleeping!”

Lieca frowns. “Calli, sweetheart, I’m fine. No fussing, please.”

She looks around her sister curiously, noting the lack of a flash of red behind her. “Where’s your lesser half?”

Lieca sighs. “If you are referring to Theron, he is still sleeping. He worries too much when I’m upset, and so ends up sleeping even less himself. Now, how is your head?”

 

* * *

 

Arcann looks away as Lieca moves to Calli’s side, ignoring her feeble protests and pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. He realises he can actually feel a flicker of her concern as the Force rushes along her fingertips - and notices that despite her grumblings, Calli does not actually push her sister away.

He’s not jealous of that at all. Nope.

Their closeness just brings up unpleasant memories, and he looks away even as he can feel himself fascinated by the healing process. Lieca’s healing feels so much nicer than the few times he remembers Valkorion doing some demonstration or another of his... abilities. Never to help, only to show off or to hurt them further. Lieca’s Force powers also feel far softer than Dia’ayla’s - Dia’ayla’s powers were clinical, cold, scalding flecks of purple so similar to the lightning that she summons where required. Lieca by comparison feels far softer, all sweetness and life and light, her compassion obvious even in the warm golden glow that sometimes frames the shields she is famous for.

Through the bond, he feels the ripples of her gift, the way it imbues not just healing but a sense of warmth and safety and love. Her healing is as much spiritual and emotional as it is physical, and the way the soft sensation smoothes away the last lingering pain in Calli’s face makes something in him ache, a yearning to both be that sensation and experience it at the same time.

As he feels the healing fade, he realises that he had tensed, and forces his grip on the chair to relax before Lieca calls attention to it. His head is already spinning from what Calli had said; he doesn’t need to show his upset over anything else.

Lieca hugs her sister, kissing her hair even as Calli squirms away, before turning her bright blue eyes to him and he realises he has been caught. “Are you alright Arcann?”

She stands up as though she is going to approach him, and he _panics_ at the mere thought of it enough to almost flinch backwards, one hand up to ward her off as he answers. “I am fine!”

She actually seems amused at his response, folding her arms as she smiles slightly, stopping a few paces short of him. “Really? You seem a little skittish, are you sure?”

He winces, feeling his cheeks heat in embarrassment at how easily she sees through him. Why is this family so good at getting under his skin? “There is nothing you need concern yourself over,” he mumbles.

Calli pokes her head around Lieca’s hip, smirking as though she hadn’t been insulting him a few minutes ago. “Uh-oh, now you’ve done it,” she says cheerfully, in a sing-song voice. “You’re half in her head, shouldn’t you know that that’s basically a challenge to her do-gooder-ness?”

Lieca frowns, giving her sister a cross look, and Calli shrugs as she leans back, already significantly more lively now that her headache seems to have passed. He wonders for a brief moment if he had played some role there - because, alright yes, he can admit to himself privately that maybe he’d attempted to do... _something_ for her, even if he didn’t know what that something was. He hasn’t the faintest idea how to heal someone, but her pain had tugged at his heart and he’d felt a fierce yearning to make it stop. Even when she is clearly upset with him, he still doesn’t want her to suffer. And Lieca’s healing is fascinating - it’s only natural that he would want to learn something so valuable from his enemies.

Well, not enemies. Not really. Not anymore. As strange as it feels to call a woman with his father inside her head anything other than enemy.

And maybe it was a little bit of pride, trying to see if he even _could_ do anything, and to try on someone who cannot feel the Force and therefore could not tell if he failed. He realises now that perhaps his estimations of non-Force users might not be entirely accurate - Calli certainly reacted as though she could feel something, and he was too surprised and embarrassed to acknowledge that she was correct. The Force as a concept... it has so many different interpretations across the galaxy, and he read extensively about the Sith and Jedi philosophies as a child, but he was Zakuulan. The Force was for serving the Emperor. A reward, a tool, a weapon. Not something that non-believers could feel, not something that those without power could notice... until it was too late.

Of course, he had never exactly tried to heal someone before - using the Force to throw someone into a wall is a fairly obvious use of powers that even the blind and deaf would notice - so maybe that’s why it’s different?

Not to say that he sees Calli as inferior because she does not feel the Force. Or that he thinks her inferior at all.

... which is a terrifying concept in an entirely different way. He was _Emperor_. No one was his equal, or even close to it!

“Arcann?”

He’s pulled from his thoughts at Lieca’s call, realising she’s stepped closer again. “Yes?”

She’s smiling sweetly, head tilted at him in a way that matches the way Calli moves when she’s curious. “Are you sure?”

He casts his mind around for anything that might stop her looking at him all speculatively like that. “You and your sister, you are close. You move very familiarly around each other.”

Lieca nods, expression patient even as Calli clearly looks confused. “Of course. We are family.”

Calli finally leans back, slumping on her bench and moving her attention to her datapad, and he can breathe again without her scrutiny. “Huh, weird that that happens even after five years apart yeah?”

Despite himself he winces, but luckily Lieca doesn’t seem to notice as she whips her head around to look at Calli. “Calli!” she hisses, before shifting to face him again with a sunny smile in place. “It’s true that we have spent a lot of time apart, but... we still try. That’s what makes us family, more than any blood relation.”

He frowns. “You share many of the same mannerisms too. Even unconsciously, your expressions tend to match one another.”

He hides a smile at the matching looks of bewilderment the sisters give each other, but Calli quickly scowls and the resemblance vanishes. “Didn’t think you’d be paying that much attention,” she huffs.

Lieca’s smile turns indulgent, and it makes something in him want to put his guard up. “It’s only natural for him to notice the similarities,” she says easily. “Observation skills are necessary for one trying to find their place.”

Calli waves her off, pretending not to listen, and Lieca shakes her head in amusement. “At least it’s not silly comments about how alike Cera and I are - those get rather tiresome after awhile. The comments are even more frequent after we have been apart for a time, as though we forget how to move and speak once outside each other’s company.”

Calli sighs, and he senses she’s a little uncomfortable. “You mean like how Arcann and Thexan still move the same?”

He freezes at the mention of his brother, the bands around his heart squeezing even as he feels the soft echo there, and Lieca tilts her head at him. “Well, I do not know Thexan as well as you Calli, but I believe you.”

Calli snorts, tapping some sort of implement for her datapad against her lips which is only a little distracting. “They move too lightly on their feet - like cats or something.”

Lieca looks suddenly gleeful, her eyes sparkling. “Oh? That didn’t seem to stop you knocking Thexan to the floor when you first met.”

Calli coughs and Arcann frowns. “What? Why did you do that? He had not done anything to you, surely.”

She glares at him. “I thought he was _you_ ,” she says icily.

His frown deepens. “And so you attacked him? Why did you want to attack me?”

His first indication that that might not have been the right thing to say is the way Lieca winces and moves her hand up to rub her forehead. His second indication is the furious look Calli gives him - if she had the Force, he’s fairly certain he would have seen sparks run up her arms. “Are you serious?!”

He blinks, looking between the sisters. “I, well, unless that was after…” He trails off awkwardly, not entirely comfortable with bringing up the circumstances on Asylum where everything got so out of control. “Asylum?”

Lieca shakes her head briefly as if to try and warn him, and Calli gestures angrily, standing up again. “No, I met Thexan _before_ you fucked up on Asylum,” she growls, her voice almost feral.

Well, then he definitely doesn’t understand. Of course everything that happened on Asylum would be upsetting, but he had not done anything towards her before that, had he? “Then I do not understand. Why did you attack him in my place?” Was she retaliating for some slight he does not know?

She steps towards him, radiating anger like a supernova, but doesn’t push past her sister’s arm as Lieca moves to block her. “Because I had absolutely no desire to be dragged kicking and screaming back to your fucking palace, _Arcann_. At that point I had been chased around Zakuul by your fucking people for _weeks_. I wasn’t going to just let it happen without a fight! And so when I thought I saw you... no. It wasn’t going to happen. End of story.”

She...

Calli feared him?

She didn’t want to come back to the palace? At that point, he had had no idea who she was, what she represented... he had just wanted to find her, talk to her, hear her story. He didn’t want to hurt her. Is... is that what she thought? What she thought of _him_?

He suddenly remembers the Knight who had found her in the Old World, and the miserable interrogation where he found how easily his people had misinterpreted his orders, and feels shame sweep through him. “The Knights were under orders not to harm you,” he says quietly.

“Fantastic! Great! I’ll just go back in time and politely tell them that shall I? Ask them to just stop fucking stalking me and threatening me? I’m sure it’ll go down _splendidly_.”

Lieca sounds a little pained when she speaks. “Calli-”

“Don’t ‘ _Calli_ ’ me! Being unable to control his people isn’t fucking new, just look at the Exarchs!”

There is another wave of shame, and it in turn fuels his own temper. She was not the only one to be wounded by the events of their first meeting. And the idea that she feared him… “I did not even know who you were,” he snaps. “You betrayed my trust and - and _used_ me to save your sister! And gods above, now I understand why, but at the time I knew nothing other than that you _lied_ to me!”

She actually stamps her foot, arms folded. “Lied _?_ I never fucking lied! You never asked me who I was, what I was doing there! You didn’t even ask my fucking _name_ until after, and-”

“-Okay! Okay. Please, I do not need to hear these details!” Lieca interrupts, almost squeaking with her cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. and he suddenly remembers she is still standing there between them, waving her hands and looking distressed.

Calli huffs angrily but backs down, returning to her datapad, and Lieca is still quite pink as she addresses him. “Please, it’s only a short while more until we are back home. Just... please?”

Her eyes are far too much like her sister’s, all beseeching and kind, and he also backs down, grumpily looking away from Lieca. But when she says nothing more, he realises what she is waiting for. “I apologise,” he mutters gruffly.

Lieca nods at him, smiling sweetly, before turning to her sister. “Calli?” she prompts eventually.

Calli studiously ignored both of them, but when Lieca gives up and moves to sit beside her, she pokes her tongue out at him; he’s too startled to respond before she goes back to her datapad. The gesture reminds him of Vaylin when she was in one of her moods, and despite the seriousness of the moment and the way his adrenaline is still running high, it still makes him smile a little.

He’s suddenly struck by the weight of Vaylin’s absence, and it cuts him to the bone. Vaylin had been there for him in a way no one else had these last five years, and he had been the one to bring her home from Nathema when Father had finally deigned to free her, and she had filled the hole in his soul that Thexan had left as best as she could. The feeling of missing her, the longing for her acerbic wit and brooding defensiveness... it hits him so suddenly, a literal physical ache in his chest, and it’s enough to make him want to curl into a ball on the chair. Except both of the Amells would immediately notice that, and he really doesn’t want to deal with either of their sympathies.

Miserable stoic silence it is. Definitely an act he knows well. Vaylin could always see through it.

He finally looks up to see Lieca looking at him sympathetically, and his heart thumps at the realisation that she knows what he’s been thinking of. But there’s something vaguely crafty in her eyes, and he’s a little apprehensive about what that means before she turns to Calli, projecting an aura of innocence. “Oh, by the by Calli, do you have anything else at the moment on Vaylin’s movements?”

Calli seems to pick up on Lieca’s odd mood around the same time he does, bright blue eyes narrowed as she looks up at her sister. “That seems a rather vague question,” Calli drawls. “Anything specific there?”

Lieca beams, and it’s almost a little unsettling. “Calli, please. We both know you’ve been doing the most reconnaissance on Vaylin since she became Empress. Especially with Risha doing so much work to gently guide her away from more impulsive actions.”

He can’t quite help himself. “What has Vaylin been up to?” he asks quickly.

Lieca’s expression is sadder as she looks back at him; she’s not a very subtle actress, but she is an enthusiastic one. “We’re doing what we can, but it’s obviously a learning curve for all of us. Vaylin at least seems content to protect what Zakuul already controls, rather than expanding her territories. It makes her a little easier to track, but also more dangerous as she fortifies previously weak holdings. If it weren’t for her temper, we would be in a lot more trouble,” she answers quietly before pausing for a moment. “Was there something specific you wished to know?”

His chest feels tight even at hearing news of what was his empire, of hearing what a Vaylin left behind is capable of. “Actually I am mostly surprised that Vaylin has not tried to assassinate me,” he replies dully, vaguely attempting humour, but mostly just saddened at the idea. “Her... feelings on the matter of my... _leaving_ have seemed quite obvious from the broadcasts.”

Lieca gives him a sad look. “Arcann, I am sorry, but she has deployed the Horizon Guard to find you.”

It hurts far more than he wants to admit to hear that. “Oh,” is all he can say.

“Luckily, Calli has been redirecting them onto false trails to keep them away from you.”

“.... what?”

Calli’s expression promises murder, and for the first time today it doesn’t seem to be directed towards him. “Only because _you_ told me to, sis!” she huffs. “It’s not like it was that hard until bozo here decided to get himself seen by nearly every camera on Nar Shaddaa!”

His temper spikes again, a miserable mix of heartache and shame. “Only because I was running to save _your_ life!” he snaps. “And were you not gloating about how easy it was to delete all of that data anyway?”

“Of course it was easy, but it was also fucking _unnecessary_ , and-”

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the ship’s intercom crackling to life, and Cera’s far too cheerful voice echoing around the hold. “ _Okay kids, as fun as this is, if I get one more call from Odessen because a certain someone is freaking out, I am venting all of you out of the airlock and you can argue in the vacuum of space instead, yeah?”_

Calli raises her middle finger at the intercom. “I’m sure the girls love that!” she answers, biting sarcasm dripping from every word.

Lieca gives him a sympathetic smile, but there’s an odd tightness around her eyes. Her twin seems unconcerned with their younger sister’s ire though, as the loudspeaker sounds again. _“Mmm, except my actual children know better. Come on, you’re stressing Lieca out too. Be nice to the diplomat, or else Aunty Calli is on early babysitting duty when we get back. The girls_ would _love that.”_

The little astromech droid that keeps driving around so slowly - apparently amusing Calli for some reason as she kept giggling even if he did not understand why - suddenly re-enters the room, trilling about something in its usual beeps and squeals.

Calli sighs and rolls off the bench, slowly standing up and stretching, and he is only able to tear his eyes away from the way her shirt rides up as she stretches when he feels Lieca’s eyes on him. He quickly looks away, and Calli follows the little droid out of the room before her sister moves to stand in front of him.

“Come on then, Theron was apparently just pretending to sleep and has actually made food for all of us,” she says kindly, and he notices that she is a little pale. “Food will be good as a distraction if nothing else - helps pass the time. We’ll be home before you know it.”

He wishes he could agree with her, but he’s not entirely sure where _home_ is supposed to be anymore.

 

* * *

 

It seems to take both a lifetime and no time at all before they reach Odessen, and Arcann is only keeping still from sheer force of habit. Every instinct in him is screaming to run away _now_ \- maybe his father has lured him here as a trap, maybe the false Thexan is a trap, maybe everyone in the base just wants to kill him and gods above he cannot blame them for that, maybe maybe maybe.

But of course, Lieca can feel the panic thundering in his chest despite his outward stillness and just stays close by, as though trying to comfort him. She never addresses it, never encroaches on his space, but she is always... there. She even shares some of her tea with him, and although he didn’t particularly enjoy the taste, the gesture itself was... comforting. It helps, to see her soft smile and realise how foolish he was for ever thinking she would want to harm him.

Her sisters are an entirely different story though.

Calli has barely stopped glaring at him since they left Nar Shaddaa, alternating between sweetly kind and barely contained fury without any warning whatsoever, and his head is spinning a little trying to keep track of her moods. Cera had vacated the cockpit a few times and tested her reflexes against one of the training droids in the space in front of them, which he is fairly certain was purely to intimidate him with the flash of her pale purple lightsaber while his own is still on her hip.

He’s grateful for Lieca’s teacup if only for having something to fiddle with that is not his lightsaber. He doesn’t want to think about what would happened if he started fiddling with his rings instead, hot shame keeping them safe in his pocket.

Any thoughts he had of denying the Force bond between himself and his brother vanish as soon as they break into Odessen’s atmosphere, the sudden closeness after _years_ of _nothing_ enough that it resonates within him like a sonic shout. To anyone else they would have barely noticed, but he is so used to Thexan’s _absence_ that anything more than that is almost overwhelming.

Lieca is seated on the ground across from him, quietly meditating with her eyes closed, and it helps to focus on her own long slow breaths to force himself to calm down. He appreciates it more than he can say that she helps without drawing attention to it - from the way the Force moves around her, he knows her actions are deliberate.

She slowly opens swirling blue eyes to look at him, the impossibly sad look on her face vanishing behind her usual small smile. “Sorry, I was not expecting that to be as much of a shock, else I would have warned you,” she says softly. “The proximity tends to throw you off-guard if you are not expecting it, doesn’t it?”

He winces. “It’s... difficult.”

She’s quiet for a moment, ignoring the bustle of the others in the corridors, and when she speaks she’s not looking at him. “Cera and I have never been particularly good at trying to shut each other out - between what happened at the Emperor’s fortress, and then my time in carbonite... well, it’s nice to know that the Emperor doesn’t always win, right?”

It actually does draw a tiny smile from him. “Yes. But, I am sorry he turned his attention to your family as well. We... we used to wish that he would find someone else to... but, well, here we are.”

It’s the most recent of many apologies he’s made over the last few days, whenever they sit and talk about what Zakuul has done to the galaxy, filling gaps in each other’s knowledge of their opposing sides. He tends to forget what he cost this woman personally, and the compassion he feels for her is... foreign, but also somehow... right. It feels better than the terrified ball of rage he’s been since losing his brother all of those years ago. Even with Valkorion in her head, she’s still a calming influence - and he’s well aware he needs one of those.

Far less of an emotional maelstrom than her younger sister, that’s for sure. Who occupies his thoughts far too often for someone who clearly despises his company.

Lieca’s eyes are very sad when she finally looks at him, a hint of her exhaustion creeping through this weird tangled bond they seem to share. Not for the first time, he is glad its not as clear as the bond he used to have with Thexan. “I’m sorry too.”

He can feel the ship starting to decelerate as it starts the landing procedures, and the knot in his chest tightens. Lieca sighs and starts to stand up, and he quickly moves to his feet to help her before she speaks again. “I asked if the landing bay could be cleared except for family,” she says quietly. “No use having a spectacle already.”

He freezes, and Lieca gently shakes out of his grip. “Don’t worry, your family will be somewhere private - I think they’re actually almost as nervous as you. Well, except for Anya.”

He swallows. “I do not deserve this.”

She smiles sadly. “Let us decide what you deserve from us,” she says gently, before turning to the door. “Hello love. Did you speak to Jonas?”

Arcann turns to see Theron walk into the room, fairly sure by now that the scowl on Theron’s face when he isn’t looking at his wife might just be permanent, rather than directed specifically at him.

The spymaster kisses Lieca’s cheek in greeting, slipping his arm around her waist almost absentmindedly - if Arcann hadn’t already been paying attention to her balance and therefore recognised the gesture as support. “Not, but Vitalia volunteered instead. She’s still pretty mad you took both T7 and Calli away, and now she has to do all the work of covering our tracks.”

Lieca looks a little bemused. “Oh no, how terrible. She might have to do some work today.”

Theron smirks, before turning to face Arcann. “So, you two good to go?” he says, his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. It’s still a little odd to see golden eyes that were not a signifier of the Force, and he’s finally managed to stop flinching.

He might not be entirely used to his new implants yet, but his ears still work and he has heard a few brief... discussions between these two over the last few days, particularly regarding him. Privately, he agrees entirely with Theron, but the more Theron gently pushes for her to try to be more cautious the more stubbornly she tries to help. And he’s only actually known Lieca in person for such a short time, surely her husband knows her better. But it’s not really any concern of his. He doesn’t really get a say anymore, which is both terrifying and... amazingly freeing.

Lieca nods, distracting Theron pretty quickly with a short kiss, and just the soft gesture already makes her look more alert. “Yes love,” she says sweetly. “Just warning him to stay out of the way of the girls when we land, else he’ll get bowled over.”

He can see the look on Theron’s face that wants to warn him away from the children for an entirely different reason, but the spymaster doesn’t voice that threat, instead hugging his wife closer. But Arcann gets the hint regardless, and steps away from them just as Calli and the scientist walk into the room, apparently arguing from the stormy look on her face.

“Now now Calli, you know I’m being perfectly reasonable and if you just-”

“Shove it up your ass Cedrax.”

Theron snickers and Lieca frowns. But before she can say anything, the scientist tuts and dramatically drops to one knee, hand over his heart. “Oh, dear, sweet Calli, I earnestly regret anything I have done to offend you. Surely this is just a misunderstanding! How can I earn your regard again, and see your beautiful smile once more?”

The man’s tone is clearly playful for all of the wounded pride he’s projecting, but it still makes Arcann feel a little cross at the display for some reason. Especially when he sees Calli’s wide eyes and the soft blush on her cheeks, her earlier annoyance apparently forgotten. “I-what?” she asks, almost taking a step back. “Don’t- don’t _do_ that!”

“Do what, my dear slicer?”

She actually growls. “I’m not _your_ anything! And that! Exactly that! _Lieca_!”

Lieca seems to be giggling, her hand over her mouth, but her expression clears when her sister turns to her. “Tharan, please. Don’t antagonise her, or your wife.”

Tharan sighs, morosely getting to his feet and dusting off his knees. “Alas! I have been rejected once more. Take me back, my beautiful darling?”

The console lights up with the image of a bright pink hologram, a rather pretty young woman with her hands on her hips. “Hrmph! Perhaps I won’t, then what will you do?”

Tharan’s voice drops and Arcann starts to get the vaguely uncomfortable feeling that perhaps they shouldn’t be in the room with him, like he’s creepily watching an intimate moment he shouldn’t be privy to. “I suppose I shall just have to make it up to you in some way my dear.”

Calli starts rubbing her forehead, her blush fading and her annoyance taking its place again. “Ugh, these two are ridiculous.”

He wonders if Lieca will agree with her, but when he looks at the Jedi she’s also blushing, her husband murmuring something into her ear, and he looks away fast again. No wonder he has avoided people so much, this is just _awkward_.

He meets Calli’s eyes from across the room and she pulls a face. “So sickening,” she sighs, gesturing at the couples on either side of the room. “Cera! Please tell me we’re landing soon!”

_“Hold your thrantas babe, I’d rather not careen into the hangar and wipe out our families, if you don’t mind!”_

There’s some rapid beeping and whistling over the intercom as well - likely that little astromech the family seems so weirdly fond of - but it means nothing to him. Why bother learning the language of droids? Droids on Zakuul weren’t meant for conversing with, after all.

From the way Calli suddenly laughs, he suspects he might need to try to learn though.

They all sit around the room as the ship pulls into the hangar bay, Arcann sitting on the floor furthest from the door as his heart tries to beat outside his chest. The silence does nothing to distract him from his own thoughts again. What can Thexan even possibly want to say to him anyway?

The hiss of the airlock disengaging is his first warning and all three sisters eagerly flee the ship immediately, closely followed by the little astromech twittering in delight. He awkwardly hovers just inside the door, unwilling to descend the ramp and ruin the family moments, his stomach twisting into knots as he watches them.

Cera has been crash-tackled by two tiny girls who could only be her daughters, from the look of them; she shares a kiss with a dark-haired man who must be her husband Archiban, who helps her to her feet with shared laughter at their reunion. Lieca in turn is tightly wrapped around a dark-skinned young girl who must be her own daughter, older and taller than Cera’s twins, and face lit up with glee as she hugs her mother ferociously. “Mama! Look!” she says, pulling backwards and tugging on her hair. “Mister Koth and Mister Raj have been helping me and Papa practice how to braid again. Doesn’t it look good?”

Lieca nods, running her hands through her daughter’s curls, and it hits him that he separated them. He caused this pain, the desperate way the girl (Flissa? Maybe? He can’t remember) clings to her mother at even her short absence, as opposed to her much more excitable twin cousins bouncing next to their parents. And even now, part of the reason Lieca was away this time was for him too.

She had a wonderful, caring, _loving_ family, and he tried to destroy them in his own panic at the actions of the man who was his problem, not theirs. He feels like the worst person in the galaxy - gods, why doesn’t she just _hate_ him already?

He swallows and looks away as he creeps hesitantly down the first third of the ramp, eyes immediately drawn to Calli as she laughs heartily, spun around in the air by a giant wall of fur that growls in what is hopefully glee. The joyful look on her face makes him relax a little even as she snuggles into the fur, and he realises that this must be her Wookiee friend.

The one she trusted to look out for her when she was in hiding from him.

Sourly, he watches as another little family all but breaks down the doors to the hanger and rushes to her side. The woman is quite beautiful, all elegant dark features and well-tailored clothes that somehow do not look at all out of place with the small grubby toddler on one hip and another child on the other side hanging heavily on her hand, as if she’s trying to pull her faster. The man who breaks ahead of the woman is also rather attractive, his green skin somehow not off-putting in the slightest, and the elegant pattern of tattoos on his face rather intriguing to look at; along with his bright eyes and slightly messy dark hair, he’s quite easily one of the most stunning men Arcann has ever seen.

It’s the man’s sharp grin and well-defined features that identify him as Calli’s friend Geralt Abelli, but even with that knowledge, Arcann still feels a pang of something angry in his chest when they embrace, the Mirialan sloppily kissing her cheek and calling her ‘ _babe_ ’. It must just be because Calli had previously shown such distaste for personal endearments when they came from the scientist. Not that he cares for her opinion but, well, he does not wish for her to be uncomfortable.

He’s not a monster.

Any terrifying introspection in that direction is broken by the shriek of “ _AUNTY CALLI_ ” and a tiny golden blur detaches from the elegant woman’s side and charges at the still embracing pair, and Calli staggers back with an exaggerated “ _oof_ ” as the girl clutches at her legs.

The little girl’s skin is a little too golden to be entirely human, and it places her as Geralt’s daughter. If he remembers his lessons correctly, Mirialans tend to colour as shades of green and gold - perhaps the addition of human blood to the genetic line has turned the children golden rather than their father’s rich green. It’s a little fascinating to see in person, and he vaguely wonders what else might affect the children of two species.

But that’s a little too much like the biological science he was dragged from as a child, and so his mind shies away from it all to focus on the families he can see before they notice him awkwardly hovering on the ship’s ramp.

The little girl clearly wants to be a bit higher but is uncertain of climbing Calli’s bare legs, and so she scrambles up her father’s side, pulling on his coat for balance before transferring to Calli’s hip. “Calli! You’re back!”

Calli laughs, her expression so much more relaxed, and she nods as she resettles her grip on the girl. “That’s right, princess!” she says, smooching her heartily on the forehead. “Are you happy to see me?”

The girl beams. “Yes!” she shrieks. “You can see all my toys now!”

“Mmm, did Daddy cave and buy you more toys, hun?”

Geralt waves his hands, handsome face pulling an innocent expression, and the little girl scoffs. “Of course,” she says haughtily, nose turned in the air like the little princess she apparently is. “Mummy says it’s the _only_ way to deal with him.”

Calli laughs again, even as Geralt folds his arms, expression stern. “Calinda!”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?”

He sighs. “Never mind. Come on, you should go show your Aunty all your stuff. I need to go have words with Mummy while you’re distracted.”

Calli snorts. “Is _that_ what we’re calling it now?”

Geralt winks and hugs her again. “Glad to see you back home safe, Cal,” he murmurs, the words only just carrying across the space to where Arcann stands; they kiss each other’s cheeks again before he waves his wife over, and Calli turns her attention to his daughter.

Eventually Cera’s twins run to Calli’s side too, probably chased off by their parents who are clearly greeting each other rather warmly, and Calli soon has a small flock of children gleefully bouncing around her and demanding her attention. And she just looks so _happy_ that it makes him feel more relaxed too, some warm feeling growing inside his chest as he watches her delightedly playing with the children who clearly love her just as much as she loves them. She will probably be a wonderful mother someday, if that was the path she chose to take in her life.

But of course, the warm moment is broken when Lieca looks back up at the ship, gesturing for him to come out, and even he can feel the ripple of tension in the room as he shuffles down the last few steps of the ramp. Back in his formal Zakuulan wear he is unmistakable, and his scars itch with anxious nerves as he walks down the ramp onto the hangar bay floor.

He hopes she doesn’t expect him to say anything, angry and distrustful eyes focused on him from all parts of the room. What could he even say anyway?

_Hello, Arcann here._

Even in his head that sounds ridiculous.

Lieca steps closer to him, her daughter trailing behind her with wide brown eyes focused on him. “I already told our family and friends that you were with us,” she says clearly, and he realises she’s speaking so that the other occupants of the bay can hear them. “We’ll deal with the rest of this tomorrow - I do not have the energy to make a speech about our neutral pact with the Empire, the attempted assassination from Saresh _and_ your arrival today.”

Theron moves closer too, shaking his head in amusement as he steps beside her. “What’s this, you’re finally agreeing diplomacy can rest?”

Lieca glares at Theron and her daughter giggles before looking up at Arcann, dark eyes shining with curiosity. “Wow, you really _do_ look just the same as Thexan,” she says, clearly fascinated. “Aunty Cera said you had different eyes, but they look the same to me.”

He swallows and Lieca gently runs her hand through her daughter’s curls. “Flissa,” she starts to scold and he wearily cuts her off.

“Lieca, it is alright. But... what do I do now?”

Theron folds his arms. “Maybe go talk to the one person who desperately believed in you all these years?” he says sarcastically.

Lieca reaches out to pinch him, expression stern, before calling out to the room at large. “Holiday? Where are Senya and Thexan?”

The hologram’s voice echoes from the nearest speaker, and its strange to hear her voice and not see her face. “ _Ooh, let’s see… oh! Senya is babysitting Anya and Jaelin, and Thexan is in the training rooms just off this hangar. Did you need anything else honey?”_

“No, thank you Holiday, that will be all. Arcann, please follow me.”

He can still feel the eyes of every person in the room on him as he leaves, the dark-skinned man towards the back of the room especially cross as Flissa runs back to him, but he doesn’t really know what to do with this. He doesn’t know what to do about any of it.

He wants to fiddle with his lightsaber, desperately needing some sort of outlet, but its still on Cera’s hip. She does not offer it to him, and he knows better than to ask.

Besides, he learned his lesson last time. He does not want to hurt Thexan again.

What if he tries to use the Force though? What if he just _panics_ again and something goes wrong and he can’t fix it again and it’s just awful and-?

His thoughts freeze as Lieca steps in front of him, eyes shining in compassion, and she gestures to the door between them. “It will be alright Arcann,” she says solemnly, and he can _feel_ the way she’s trying to comfort him, the flicker he tends to feel from Thexan pressed much further down. “I wouldn’t let you, even if you tried. I’ll stay out here, I promise. Just... please. Please stop shutting him out, it’s hurting both of you.”

And long before he’s ready - honestly, will he _ever_ be ready? - she opens the door and gestures for him to walk through it.

He stares at the closed door for a long time before he can force himself to turn around, the thrumming in his chest so much more obvious now in person and it’s absolutely fucking _terrifying_.

He was Emperor! He didn’t need anyone else! No-one was allowed that close to him, no-one!

The only one who ever was was Thexan, and he _killed_ _him_. He was a _monster_.

Every letter Thexan ever sent him swirls to his mind’s eye, the echoes of his brother’s voice - his _brother_ , not some imposter traitor, his actual _alive brother_ \- burned into his memory. His brother, begging for forgiveness. As though there was anything to forgive - Thexan should have run away from him, stayed far away from him

Thexan was always so much better than him.

The least he can do is offer an apology in turn. Even if it is ultimately meaningless... Thexan deserves this.

And it’s that thought that finally gives him the courage to turn around, dread like ice in his veins as his eyes desperately sweep the room for the presence he feels like a second heartbeat.

There is a man standing on the other side of the room, facing towards the windows. He’s not dressed in Zakuulan formalwear - rather, a homespun tunic and pants - and his hair has been allowed to grow and is far darker than the blonde fuzz on his own head. But it’s the lightsaber twinkling on his hip that catches his eye, and he swallows again.

But the words won’t come. His emotions are going haywire, the Force shuddering along his body as he tries to calm down, and he _does not deserve this._

Thexan is here, Thexan is alive, Thexan is still bonded with him, Thexan didn’t shut him out, Thexan _should_ have shut him out, Thexan, Thexan, Thexan.

He swallows again, desperately, unable to stop the tears forming in his eyes. “ _Thexan_ ,” he finally sobs.

And his last terrified thoughts of the possibility of this being some cruel Alliance joke finally vanish when the man finally turns around, his own eyes glistening with tears in a face more familiar than his own. “Arcann,” he responds, his own voice tight. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”

For the second time since choosing this side, Arcann breaks.

He collapses to his knees, barely even registering the pain as his knees hit the ground, just completely unable to stay standing anymore. Thexan makes a noise of alarm as he falls, but he cannot even begin to respond to that, tears falling in earnest now.

He _killed_ Thexan. The best thing in his entire life, the other half of his soul, the only one who always loved him unconditionally. He _killed_ him. He killed him and he’s just standing there staring at him, not attacking him, not yelling at him, not screaming every curse they both know.

“Arcann?”

He finally looks up, and shudders as he realises Thexan has stepped closer. “You should hate me,” he whispers. “Why don’t you hate me?”

Thexan frowns. “What?”

He cringes, staring up at the brother he murdered with tears running down the uninjured side of his face. “I killed you. I loved you and I killed you and you should hate me and-”

“Arcann, it was an accident-”

“-I slashed you, I attacked you with the lightsaber we built together, I hurt you, I swore to protect you I-”

“Arcann, please, breathe-”

“Why don’t you hate me?! Stop trying to help me!”

Thexan finally does step back at the sign of his temper, and his chest aches so much he can’t breathe and he hunches over enough to press his forehead into the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he babbles, shaking with the tears that just won’t stop.

He has no idea how long he lies there, desperately trying to pull himself together but completely unable to. He only realises how long it’s been when he feels the hesitant flicker of Thexan’s Force powers against his own, and he starts crying anew. “I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly. “For everything.”

He can feel the difference in the air as Thexan drops to one knee as well, radiating concern he does not deserve. “Arcann, it’s going to be alright,” his brother says heavily, and he swallows with a giant hiccup, tears still running down his face.

“Thexan-”

“Arcann, please, look at me.”

He shudders and slowly pulls himself off the ground, moving back to sit on his feet as he kneels on the ground, everything aching horribly as he looks up at his twin’s face.

Thexan gives him a tiny smile when he sees that he is watching, holding his right hand out for him to grab. “It’s alright Arcann,” Thexan says thickly, tear tracks still obviously trailing down his own face.

It’s still absolutely terrifying to see him there. He can’t possibly be real. He can’t possibly have the best thing in his life back. Even if Thexan actually hates him - he does not deserve this.

What if he grabs for him and he’s not real and it is a cruel joke and he’s still in the palace, alone and scared, what if what if _what if_ -

But Thexan doesn’t draw back his hand and the Force swirls around them both to give him the courage to grip Thexan’s forearm and try not to collapse in sobs as his brother pulls him to his feet. And he can’t make himself let go.

Thexan smiles, gripping his forearm tight in return. “I knew you’d come back eventually,” he says eventually, tone awkward even as he seems so pleased. “Why do you always have to be so dramatic?

Thexan is alive, he looks so healthy and happy, even with the tears on his face, and gods above and below this is... even his cruelest dreams couldn’t imagine this. “You... you’re one to talk,” he chokes out.

Thexan is still crying, even as he smirks. “Is this... is this just about the, uh, resurrection thing?”

Arcann coughs a half-laugh through his own tears, shaking his head to try to dislodge some of the tears. His robotic hand would barely catch any of them, and he’s not willing to risk letting Thexan go. “I just… _how_?”

Thexan sighs, trying to wipe his eyes with his free hand and failing abysmally as the tears keep falling. “It is a long story,” he says, before pausing. “Or, well, actually a short one. I didn’t die, and then I was saved. Father, he… he just wanted you to think I was dead. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. I’m sorry I did not come home.”

Arcann shakes his head. “Stop,” he says thickly. “It was not your fault. You, I-”

Thexan grins, still crying. “We are such idiots, aren’t we?”

He coughs another laugh that sounds dangerously close to another sob. “I _missed_ you.”

“I missed you so much too.”

He’s not entirely sure which of them moves first, but they finally drop each other’s arms only to move into a tight hug, both of them still crying like complete idiots.

Maybe he’s found home after all.

And he won’t let Father hurt them ever again.


	33. Family

It’s all still so overwhelming.

Even hours later, perched awkwardly on the couch with his youngest niece in his arms - his _niece_ , he has _multiple_ nieces -, Arcann can’t still bring himself to believe that this is truly real and not just some wildly cruel hallucination.

He had met Thexan’s wife Ona’la - a lovely woman totally at odds with the vicious gossip he had heard and shamefully believed about her in the years of tracking down what he thought was an imposter Thexan. Those rumours could not be further from the truth, given that the woman smiles like the sun and immediately embraced him as if he was a dearly missed family member she had been expecting, and not the man who had nearly killed her husband years earlier. She reminds him a little of Lieca, with her kind heart and supportive nature; it’s an impression that is only strengthened at the news that the two women are apparently good friends.

He is glad Thexan found someone like her to be with him in the years since their... parting.

Meeting Thexan’s daughters had been an entirely different story though. The eldest girl was clearly ridiculously excited to be meeting him, and he had barely held back the tears at how proudly she declared him to be the inspiration for part of her name. He’s fairly certain Anya must be energy personified, and once she finally stopped to take a breath in the middle of her questions for him, she had started zipping around the room almost before he was even aware of it. Ona’la had smiled indulgently as their daughter scaled her body to try to sit on her shoulders, and Thexan just shook his head, somehow looking both tired and amused. He suspected Anya might be like this all of the time, and briefly pitied his brother before seeing how happily both twi’leks smiled at him.

It’s good that Thexan is so happy with his own little family - he deserves so much peace and more for the pain Arcann put him through all those years ago, after all -, but even with the loving and enthusiastic welcome they have offered to him, he can’t help but feel painfully aware of how awkward it all is, and how strange his presence is, like a jigsaw puzzle piece trying to slot into the wrong place. He might also - if he’s being completely honest - be a tiny bit jealous, of so many things before him. The weary relaxation that marks Thexan as an entirely different man, or the glowing looks that pass between him and his wife, or the goddamn fact that Thexan got out and got free of the spectre of their father in the first place.

But it’s fine - and surprisingly, it actually _is_ fine. He’s a little bit jealous, sure, but he has his brother back, he’s been given a second chance against every odd in the universe. And then his mother had walked in for another reunion, noticeably slower than when he’d last seen her but proudly walking unassisted. Anya had shrieked and run straight at her knees, and he’d risen to his feet in an emotional daze; Senya had smiled at him, tears in her eyes, and had taken his face in both her hands and - despite him being a good deal taller than her now- had kissed him on the forehead and declared how proud she was of him.

It was a good thing Anya had scampered away in excitement, because he really did start crying in earnest at that point, and after a moment of clinging to one another as they wept, Thexan had joined in on the hug too.

Their family was broken, but... for the first time in a long, long time, he doesn’t feel like things are beyond repair. The hours that followed that, filled with stories and reminiscences and jokes and shared grief, are impossible to describe, a whir of emotion and casual affection the likes of which he’s not sure he’s ever experienced before.

He wishes Vaylin could be here to enjoy it too.

And then Thexan makes the most foolish decision in his life and just absently hands him little Jaelin, in order to go and rescue Anya who seems to be trying to climb the cupboard on the other side of the room. Ona’la had gone with Senya to help escort the older woman back to the medical suite she’s been staying in since Voss - her recovery has been slow, but not as hopeless as he’d feared. His mother tires easily, but the doctors here in the Alliance seem pleased enough with her progress so far - and that helps with the guilt, if nothing else. But with Ona’la and his mother out of the room, that leaves him with the onerous duty of holding the toddler, and he ends up having a staring contest with a tiny twi'lek with bright purple eyes intently sucking her thumb.

Uh...

Why did Thexan give him a child, he has no idea what to do with children. He’s never really been around kids - even when he was one - what is he supposed to do? Is he holding her right? Is he hurting her? Why did Thexan do this to him?

He’s fairly certain children can smell fear, somehow, because Jaelin then scrunches up her nose, her expression clearly miserable and seemingly threatening tears.

But before the tiny toddler can even open her mouth to start wailing, the door to the room bursts opens and the Mirialan child from earlier comes sprinting into the room, giggling maniacally and shrieking Anya’s name. His heart lurches almost violently when she is closely pursued by a clearly annoyed Calli, who’s shouting something in a language he does not understand until she swaps to Basic.

“ _Calinda Belle Drayen_!” she snaps, catching the child’s wrist and dragging her to a stop before she can lunge towards the same piece of furniture that Anya is scaling. “We are _supposed_ to be letting Anya’s family have their own time together, and you _promised_ you would behave! In what universe is this behaving?”

Thexan takes his eyes off of Anya’s lofty perch - his niece, meanwhile, stands triumphantly atop the cupboard with her arms raised, repeatedly babbling “Daddy, I want to fly! Do the flying trick Daddy!” - to look over at the two interlopers, his lips twitching in amusement. “Oh, so we have a tricksy escape artist, huh?”

Calli crosses her arms, still looking cross, and the little girl hangs her head. “But Aunty Calli-!”

“No buts! Apologise to Uncle Thexan. What if he was still talking to his family and you interrupted?”

The tiny Mirialan scrunches up her nose. “Like when Mummy and Daddy are _talking_? _Ugh_.”

Calli sighs, her cheeks going slightly pink. “No, not _quite_ like that,” she says dryly. “But still. Apologise.”

“Aunty Calli, but I wanted to play with Anya-”

“Calinda.”

“But Aunty Calli-”

“ _Now_.”

Thexan schools his expression just as Calinda turns to him, hands behind her back as she rattles off an apology. He nods his head solemnly, already a thousand times more competent with children than Arcann could ever dream of being, and Anya suddenly leaps off the top of the cupboard without warning, prompting him to start to shout in alarm.

This is, however, apparently far from unusual behaviour for her, because Thexan doesn’t even blink as he throws up a hand and gestures to his daughter as she careens towards the ground - only for her to glide the last foot or so at a far more sedate speed. “I’m flying!” Anya shrieks, and the moment her feet touch the ground she just about tackles the newcomer in a hug. “Wanna play tag?”

Arcann’s attention is then drawn to the frustrated toddler in his arms, her nose scrunching up further and clearly about to cry, and he’s pretty sure if she cries he’s going to as well.

Luckily, before that embarrassing eventuality comes to pass, Calli takes note of his plight and steps closer. “You’re not holding her right,” she says bluntly, avoiding eye contact.

He frowns. “What?”

Jaelin immediately notices Calli’s proximity and starts trying to reach towards her, her face no longer a storm of imminent wailing. Before he can even realise what she’s planning, the little girl suddenly lunges in Calli’s direction - shades of her older sister, apparently - and Arcann is almost surprised enough to let her go.

Thankfully, Calli is much quicker on the uptake and steadies the girl before she can make her break for freedom, her fingers warm against his as she does so. The toddler keeps reaching for her, and she tuts and scoops her up into her arms and out of Arcann’s. “Jaelin! No need for that nonsense baby, I’m right here.”

Jaelin giggles, clearly pleased with herself as she snuggles into Calli’s shoulder, and Calli sighs, gesturing at him to move before sitting on the couch next to him with Jaelin almost in-between them. “Tiralls are just too much trouble, aren’t they princess?” she mutters, and Jaelin giggles again.

Arcann stares at her, bouncing his niece on her shoulder, and she looks at him over Jaelin’s face. “I babysit a bit when the older kids are in lessons,” she explains. “She’s used to me, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Jaelin mumbles something that could be words and could just be gibberish, and he tries to focus on her rather than the unnerving realisation that Calli knew what he was going to ask her. Jaelin then lifts her head to look at him, frowning and starting to reach back for him with little grabby hands.

Calli of course notices her movement, and starts leaning sideways towards him, tracking Jaelin’s movements. “Daddy!” the little girl suddenly shrieks.

Arcann freezes, and Calli pauses. “No sweetheart, not Daddy. This is Uncle Arcann. He just looks like Daddy.”

Jaelin frowns, still making grabby hands towards Arcann’s face. “Daddy!” she says again, more insistently.

He has no idea what to do here. He was just holding her, surely she knows he is different? He can feel his metal arm curling into a fist, suddenly miserable and embarrassed.

Calli makes a sudden noise of understanding, and gently moves to kneel in front of him, holding Jaelin out in front of her to face him. “Jaelin, _Uncle Arcann_. Not Daddy,” she says patiently. “See? He looks a little different. Like Lieca and Cera, _twins_.”

It takes a great deal more self-control than he’s usually capable of to stop himself moving his hand over his scars, shame burning up his neck.

Calli frowns at him, and Jaelin reaches out, guided by Calli lifting her a little, to put her hands on his scars and he barely represses the urge to flinch. Why didn’t he just move away, why were her earnest little eyes tracking him. Why wasn’t Thexan stopping his daughter touching him?

“Not Daddy,” Jaelin mutters. “Wins.”

Calli nods. “That’s right. _Twins_. This is Daddy’s brother.”

Jaelin keeps exploring his face, and it’s possibly the most terrifying thing in his life other than apologising to his brother. She then suddenly latches onto his ruined ear with a ferocity he wouldn’t have believed a baby possible of, and he does wince then. Calli quickly moves to pry her fingers off of him. “Jaelin, no grabbing.”

She squirms frantically until Thexan suddenly appears, sitting next to him in the spot Calli vacated, and the toddler squeals again. “Daddy!”

Calli shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she hands the girl over, and stays kneeling as Thexan bounces his daughter on his leg. “Are you picking on my brother, little dragon?” he asks, his babying tone so at odds with the man he grew up. Arcann honestly never expected to hear his brother sound even remotely like this.

Jaelin giggles again, before clearly looking curiously between them both. “Wins!” she declares triumphantly.

Thexan laughs. “Yes eya, twins. You being nice to your Uncle?”

Calli smirks. “Except for pulling on his face, yeah.”

Thexan sighs dramatically. “Oh no! What do we do to ouchies sweetie?”

Jaelin laughs as Thexan moves her onto Arcann’s lap, and stretches up to catch his face again. “Mwah!” she declares, pressing her face against his in a wet slobbery gesture that in no way resembles a kiss.

Calli laughs. “Kisses make everything better,” she says, nodding sagely. “But I’m sorry we interrupted. I’ll grab the royal brat and make a break for it eh?”

Thexan chuckles, quickly stopping Jaelin from grabbing his nose too and moving her back to his own lap. “It’s fine, Calli,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t look back at him as she moves away to collar her own niece, and he tells himself it doesn’t matter but still can’t help but feel upset at her dismissal. Thexan sighs. “Stop pouting, you’ll be fine,” he mutters, pulling faces at his daughter.

Arcann glares at him, trying not to listen to the sounds of Calli trying to wrestle her niece away from his niece, apparently helped by a returning Ona’la if the sounds from the other room are anything to go by. “Perhaps if your daughter did not pull on my face,” he responds.

Thexan gives him a look that says he can see right through him. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s the only reason.”

He doesn’t recall Thexan being this _annoyingly perceptive_ before.

 

* * *

 

It’s barely even lunchtime on their first day back on Odessen, and Lieca already has a giant headache. Between talking to their inner team about the inevitable fallout from their meeting with Acina, and the issue of Saresh, and the white nerf in the room of the deposed Emperor Arcann trailing after them, and then making the big official speech to the base and Alliance at large - she’s exhausted.

Cera had brought her some pain medication earlier, and she’s currently lying across the couch while her sister gently massages her temples, while Theron sits nearby and watches with interest. He has previously expressed a desire to learn the technique to help her, though she wishes he would just _ask_ Cera instead of watching her.

She can still hear Lana and Jezhara’s outrage ringing in her ears hours later; it’s enough to make her headache spike and she winces. Thankfully, none of them were scheduled to be in charge of the children’s lessons today, but she’s fairly certain Cera swapped her shift to be there for her. Even if she’s mostly certain Cera just wanted the joy of chasing everyone else out of the room, all but baring her teeth at Jezhara to make her leave.

Theron finally sighs and gets to his feet, still looking worried, and she wishes she wasn’t such a burden to him. It’s a notion he immediately dispels by moving to kiss her forehead, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Alright then, I’m going to go find us some lunch. Did you want some tea at least? I think I saw raspberry at the top of the cupboard?”

She smiles, fairly certain that’s Theron’s way of pretending he didn’t specifically order that box just for her. “Yes please darling,” she answers, smiling as he kisses her farewell before escaping.

Cera slowly eases up the pressure on her temples, and to her great relief it doesn’t start again immediately. “I’ll go help him,” her twin says softly, helping her to sit up. “And steal the good chocolate. He can’t know where the stash is,” she continues with a wink before sliding off the couch and leaving as well.

Lieca sighs, keeping her eyes closed for a moment before remembering the room’s other occupant, and opens them again to see Calli awkwardly perched on the other couch. “Um... did you need me to go get something too?”

She shakes her head, smiling softly. “No Calli, it’s fine. The others just wish to fuss - it’s easier to let them.” Calli’s expression is a little torn, and she wonders if Calli feels she should be fussing too. “I don’t really need it of course... is there something on your mind?”

Calli stares at her. “He’s coming back, isn’t he?” she says quietly. She doesn’t need to ask her who she means - the flicker of Valkorion creeping back inside her head is growing harder to ignore.

Lieca winces, looking down. “A little,” she admits quietly. “Barely more than... impressions, every now and then I suppose. Satele and Marr are trying to think of anything else they can do but... it’s just wait and see at this point. How did you know?”

To her surprise, Calli immediately gets off the couch and moves to sit next to her, hugging her fiercely with her head pressed against her shoulder. “You’re not subtle,” she says bluntly, even as she tightens her hold.

It’s that more than anything that convinces her that Calli really will be alright. Her sister’s heart is strong, even with everything that’s happened to her over the last several months. “Hmm, I suppose I’m not,” she answers absently, hugging Calli back.

They sit there for a long moment before Lieca speaks again. “There was something I wanted to ask you though.”

Calli pauses before answering, already sounding suspicious when she does. “Yeah?”

Lieca sighs. “Are you... are you really alright with Arcann being here?”

Calli stiffens immediately, her voice rather high when she answers. “What? Why are you asking me that?”

She smiles, glad Calli can’t see her face. “ _Darling_ ,” she says pointedly. “I know why he’s needed here for the Alliance but... regardless of anything else, he did hurt _you_ , Calli. Not just what he’s done to us since my escape, but something that he did hurt you personally. You can see it when you speak to him. And I’m not asking you to forgive him, or to change the way you feel, of course not. But... are you going to be okay if he stays here? For real?”

Calli pauses, but she does relax a little before she speaks and it calms Lieca’s heart down too. “It doesn’t really matter-” she starts awkwardly, and Lieca cuts her off.

“Honey, it does matter. I know... I know we haven’t always been the best of sisters. Cera and I were away for so long, and then you’ve been on your own for years - but we’re still family. I love you and I want you to be happy and safe. And if he upsets you... I don’t want to cause you pain Calli.”

Calli sniffs. “Yeah, I know,” she says roughly, still hugging her. “And it’s... it’s fine. I appreciate that, I do. I just... I need to figure it out myself, okay?”

She nods. “Of course. But you know we’re here for you, no matter what,” she says, before pausing thoughtfully. “Cera will be more than happy to ‘ _kick his ass_ ’ again if she needs to.”

Calli snickers. “No offence, but it sounds really _wrong_ when you say it.”

She frowns. “I am perfectly capable of applying whatever language I choose to a situation,” she starts primly, and Calli just giggles before rattling off an extremely vulgar phrase in Huttese and she gasps. “ _Calli_!”

Calli laughs, releasing her to move away. “I thought you could cope with any language?” she says smugly, before shrieking as she dodges the pillow thrown at her head.

She just laughs too, her face a little red, and waits for her sister to calm down, sprawled across the couch. “Well, just know we are here for you. No matter what.”

Calli blows her hair off her forehead but nods. “Yeah yeah, love you too,” she says absently, but she can tell she really does mean it.

They sit in silence for a few moments before Lieca absently speaks again. “Does it make it better or worse that he’s still fairly handsome?” she muses.

Calli gapes at her. “What? Oh! Oh no, _please_ don’t go there!”

She smiles indulgently. “The physical attraction element is a little obvious, even with no intention to act on it. Ona’la chose very well, after all. I wonder if it’s the scars that add to the appeal?”

Calli squeaks. “Oh my gods, no! Nooooooooo! I mean, yes, obviously he’s hot but - wait, we are _not_ talking about this, you like _Theron_!”

She frowns. “What do you mean, “ _I like Theron_ ”? Why does that matter? Theron is also rather attractive - when he’s not covered in bruises at least.”

Calli shudders. “Ew ew ew!”

Of course, Theron and Cera take this moment to return to the room clutching their prizes, and Theron looks a little puzzled at Calli’s dramatics on the couch. “Did I miss something…?”

Lieca smiles brightly at him. “Just discussing that I find you incredibly attractive, darling.”

To her amusement, Theron actually perks up a bit at that, and Cera just smirks and moves over to give Calli some food. “Incredibly attractive huh?”

She giggles, taking the offered tea cup. “Theron, we are married. Of course I find you attractive.”

He moves over to sit next to her, smirking. “Still,” he says, leaning over to kiss her. “You like me.”

She shakes her head. “I _love_ you.”

The moment is vaguely ruined by Calli’s retching noises behind her, but she chooses to ignore her and snuggle with Theron. They’ll be fine.

And then Flissa and her cousins burst through the door for their lunch break too, and she gets to enjoy her lunch with her daughter and her husband together. Nothing seems so bad when she has Flissa’s beautiful smile as she snuggles into her side, munching away contentedly.

 

* * *

 

As Emperor, Arcann had once had many, many people employed for the specific purpose of protecting him from harm. As a prisoner - or whatever it is he is to this Alliance -, he finds the notion of a bodyguard to be so utterly galling and insulting that he scarcely has words for it.

He’s already in a bad mood after everything that happened this morning, when Lieca publicly announced his arrival on Odessen to a frankly lacklustre crowd, and his lack of sleep (how do people sleep in beds so small?) generally souring his temperament further, that the notion of a _bodyguard_ is not improving his disposition in the slightest.

The twins’ Jedi friend Tal’nerra has been assigned to his side, and the unfairly attractive twi’lek is just sitting there in the limited privacy of his tiny quarters as calm as can be, and is frankly making him feel far worse by comparison. The stoic Jedi had introduced himself with very little fanfare, and had followed him back to his room after the public announcement as if it wasn’t at all unnerving to have a large blue twi’lek following silently in his footsteps. Tal’nerra is hardly nonplussed by the small space, setting up his cushion on the floor near to the door and a worn leather book in front of him, closing his eyes as he kneels on the cushion. Just like that. Without even asking if that was going to be convenient for him. What if he had guests? Well, okay no, he wasn’t going to have guests, everyone hated him, but maybe!

He instead starts pacing angrily, pretending to ignore the twi’lek Jedi, but it’s far harder than he thought. He’s fairly certain Tal’nerra is a few years older than him - he must be, to have been a trainer to the Amell sisters, but he seems far younger as he sits there quietly meditating. The neutral colours of his clothing only accentuates his colouring, the pale blue bright and vibrant except for the darker colour of the markings on his lekku.

Objectively he knew about the many races of the galaxy, but he has not personally spent much time in the company of non-humans, and he finds them rather fascinating. Tal’nerra is a rather handsome man at first impression, radiating a sense of calm, and his dark blue eyes were certainly striking (when his eyes were not closed at least).

Perhaps he would be more enamoured of the man’s looks if he was not so annoyed at what his presence represents, and he angrily flops down onto the couch.

Tal’nerra finally speaks, and the rich sound is enough to make him jump slightly. “It’s as much for your sake as for anyone else,” he says clearly, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Arcann scowls. “What?”

Tal’nerra shifts his arms to a more comfortable angle, otherwise remaining in position. “Cease your posturing. I am here as much to protect you from everyone else as to protect everyone else from you.”

He puffs up, feeling somewhat insulted. “Do you think me incapable of looking after myself?” he fumes.

Tal’nerra shrugs. “Not entirely, but your effectiveness is somewhat reduced without your lightsaber.”

He scowls further and - acting purely on righteous indignation - he moves his hand to pluck Tal’nerra’s lightsaber from his waist and summon it to his side.

But the flash of pride fades quickly as the lightsaber pauses halfway to him and starts floating back to Tal’nerra, whose eyes are opened now. “Cera used to try that too,” he says dryly, though his expression is a little more guarded. “Can’t say she ever had hers confiscated for... well... everything you’ve done, though.”

His cheeks burn at the insult, and he crosses his arms. Tal’nerra smiles slightly, back to looking amused. “Don’t fret, it’s nothing on you,” he says easily. “It’s easier this way.”

“This is just a gilded cage, nothing more.”

Tal’nerra tilts his head to the side, his forehead creasing a little. “Mmm, yes. With your family as the bars. All that kind bonding and compassion and starting to make restitution - must be _awful_.”

His face is quite literally on fire right now. “Are you _mocking_ me?”

Tal’nerra shrugs. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And yet the man definitely is. “You seem awfully calm about being here alone with the son of a god-killer,” he mutters.

Tal’nerra sighs, looking at him rather balefully. “Uh-huh. Valkorion was many things, but god-killer is most likely to be one of his more fanciful epithets, rather than something he actually did. Too much work involved with that sort of thing to be him,” he says easily, before closing his eye again. “Besides, better the son than the father right?”

He may have brought up the family connection himself, but he realises he really does not like being compared to his father now... especially unfavourably. Well not that he wants to be seen as being like his father, considering how much everyone here seems to hate Valkorion. “Would it make a difference?” he answers bitterly.

Tal’nerra nods, his expression darkening. “You have not made nearly as much effort to psychologically torture my closest friends. We would all rather deal with you than that murderous monster,” he says before pausing. “Your voice is also significantly less grating.”

Arcann starts to sit up and pauses midway through the movement. That’s something he’s not heard in years, well aware that the filters in his mask made his voice less than pleasant. Although that’s probably less of a compliment and more... not an insult? That’s something, maybe? “Ah... thank you?” he says uncertainly.

Tal’nerra laughs, the sound rich and full and obviously far more attractive than his own voice could ever be. “It wasn’t entirely meant that way,” he says, sounding amused as he opens his eyes again. “But I suppose it is a compliment in its own way. You’re far more straightforward in your motivations than Valkorion too. In some matters more than others, to be sure, but I digress.”

“What?”

The twi’lek shakes his head, his lekku moving enough with the movement that Arcann’s eyes drop to them with interest. “No matter. Would you rather I wasn’t here? Do you want to be alone?”

His somewhat improved mood vanishes. “I am a prisoner, aren’t I?” he says angrily. “No-one here wants to be near me. I should be alone.”

Tal’nerra sighs. “First of all, you volunteered. So you’re not a prisoner. And if you call yourself that again I shall tell Lieca and then you will have to deal with her sad eyes and beseeching looks.”

Arcann wasn’t entirely aware that he shuddered until Tal’nerra laughs again. “You see my point,” he answers smugly. “As for telling Lieca what she ‘ _should_ ’ do - well, good luck to you my friend. You will need it.”

“We are not friends.”

He shrugs. “Whatever suits you. You’re not the first person I’ve sat here for who’d rather rail and scream than self-reflect.”

Arcann’s gaze sharpens and he looks over to see Tal’Nerra staring at him, expression serious. “Cera,” he says, answering the unasked question. “Of course, it was not to the degree that you and your brother faced, but Valkorion’s attempted intrusion into her mind... well, it left its scars. On both of them, as much as Lieca pretends otherwise. Probably why he chose her, other than simply her availability.”

Arcann keeps staring and Tal’nerra rolls his shoulders, closing his eyes again. “But that’s not really your concern to ask of me - you should ask them if you want to know more. And stop scowling, else your face will be stuck that way.”

Arcann immediately glares at him. “My face is of no concern of yours,” he says hotly, quickly standing up and stomping to the refresher. Perhaps the short time and space away from the annoyingly perceptive twi’lek and his weird radiating calm will make him feel better.

When he returns, Tal’nerra doesn’t appear to have moved - still sitting serenely in the same pose by the door - but he _has_ gained a small twi’lek child, half on his head and half dangling off his shoulders as if she had just materialised there. “Tal’nerraaaaaaaaaaaa” Anya whines, pulling on his lekku a little as she tries to balance herself. “Play with me!”

Tal’nerra doesn’t even open his eyes. “Miss Anya, I already told you that I cannot play right now. I am meditating. And _you_ are supposed to be at lessons.”

She pouts, quite happily perched on his head, and Arcann coughs. Anya immediately turns to him, stormy blue eyes wide, and she shrieks. “ _Uncle Arcann_!”

To his amusement, Tal’nerra does finally react as Anya uses his head as a launching pad, though his wince could have been from the pressure or the sudden noise. Arcann’s amusement quickly fades when his niece obviously uses the Force to help her momentum and she _jumps_ across the room at his own head. Out of panicked instinct more than anything he catches her, trying not to flinch as he worries about hurting her somehow.

Evidently he didn’t need to worry about that, as Anya laughs gleefully as soon as she’s caught, immediately scrambling up his side like some sort of Kowakian lizard-monkey (he thinks that was what Thexan called her yesterday at least). “Yay!” she beams. “That was fun!”

Tal’nerra speaks up, his tone scolding as he rubs his head. “Miss Anya, what have we told you about jumping at unsuspecting people? You worried your uncle. And you are supposed to be letting him rest, he has had a very exciting few days.”

Anya sighs, looking annoyed. “Tal’nerra, he’s not lying down. That means he’s not resting.”

Tal’nerra brow shifts slightly, looking more amused now. “Oh? Is that what your mummy and daddy say you should do to rest?”

She scowls. “They always want me to rest when I’m not sleepy,” she mutters crossly, suddenly twisting in Arcann’s arms to stare up at his face. “Are you sleepy Uncle Arcann?”

He blinks at her, still a little unsettled by his brother’s eyes set in this tiny adorable face. “Not...not really,” he says hesitantly.

She brightens. “Good! Then you can play with me!”

He stares at her blankly for a moment before looking helplessly at Tal’nerra, the only other person in the room, who at least has some idea of what to do with a child. The older twi’lek’s face is carefully blank, as though refusing to advise him on what to do, but the vague calm he can feel through the Force without an actual bond between them at least makes him feel that whatever he decides he has backup.

And he is a little overwhelmed by all of this, including his family, but... it isn’t going to get any better if he hides away from them all, is it?

He’s had over five years of hiding away from the world. Maybe it is time to try to change, even if just a little bit.

He looks back at his niece. “I... I do not how to play,” he says awkwardly.

Anya seems briefly shocked and slides down to the floor. “Well, I can show you then! We can play my favourites if you don’t have any. I like tag and flying and pillow fights and jumping and hide and seek and what’s the time mr dragon and-”

Arcann quickly cuts her off. “Anya I do not think we can play all of them at the same time,” he says gently. “Can you pick one?”

She moves her hand to her chin, clearly mimicking her father’s ‘ _thinking_ ’ pose, and it draws a slight smile from him. “I shall decide then,” she declares magnanimously, sitting cross-legged as she considers.

He looks up uncertainly at his kind-of-bodyguard, and Tal’nerra smiles back, almost as though in approval, and he wishes even the hint of such from someone he barely knows didn’t make him feel better. Although the smile vanishes as Anya suddenly races to his side, tapping his shoulder. “Tag! You’re it!”

 

* * *

 

Vaylin screams and the latest skytrooper model explodes from across the room, her temper manifesting far faster than her lightsaber. The golden blade continues spiraling uselessly through the air, returning to her hand like some stupid child’s toy that serves no purpose.

She has been Empress for only a few months and she hates it so much she can barely breathe. All the bowing and scraping and decisions and people who _notice_ if she just stays in her room all day and her arms start to _itch_ at the thought, like weird Zakuulan bugs crawling under her skin.

The stupid seneschal keeps talking about spy bugs in her quarters or something. It’s his fault she’s thinking about it.

Wait, it was _her_ fault. But she threw her over the railing in the control room. She has a new seneschal now. One who’s less annoying.

She still can’t make herself move into Arcann’s room. Not because she cares about his stuff at all - he fucking _left_ her. He _betrayed_ her. She should destroy everything in there! But as much as she wants to destroy his stupid belongings, she knows her useless brother - he wouldn’t have anything in there worth caring about anyway. She only spent five minutes in his rooms before her arms started to itch and she had to leave.

It was so _open_. The stars were very pretty but... this great huge room all open and empty of stuff. Nobody even lived there, not really. Even she at least had belongings and and clothes and food and plates and discarded jewellery around the place. Arcann’s room looked like a traitor’s room, someone who had no connection to this place and could just walk away without caring.

The next droid explodes before it even makes it inside the door, but she doesn’t notice, already kicking the pieces of the latest one around to make the most noise . Arcann didn’t care. And she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he didn’t care. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone!

So why did it hurt hearing that he was alive _and_ with the Alliance now???

She knew he would’ve fucking caved like some spineless idiot - just desperate to be back in Father’s good books, the precious male heir, begging for scraps of affection and support. Ha! She was smarter than that! She didn’t need Father!

She’s been noticing a lot more headaches recently, every time she thinks anything unkind about Father. It seems to get worse the longer she spends on the throne, so she’s been avoiding it. She’s Empress! She can rule wherever she wants! She doesn’t need no stupid _throne_.

Plus the less time she spends around the throne is less time for that SCORPIO to sniff around it too. She’s still not entirely sure why she hasn’t just killed that droid yet. Everything she says just drips with the same disdain Father always used to speak with, all soft words but cruel phrases.

Maybe part of her is still a little scared of Father, maybe part of her does just automatically listen to people who talk like he does. The mere thought makes the nearby table suddenly collapse in on itself, the metal plate on top snapping in half like a dry piece of tree bark. She is _Empress_! No-one can patronise her anymore.

She wonders if Arcann had to tell himself he was Emperor as many times a day as she does. She wonders if Arcann is really alive and maybe actually okay. Maybe he’s having a party with Thexan and Mother and that stupid Outlander, all happy and snickering together about how they left her behind. All happy because they don’t have to worry about little angry Vaylin, who doesn’t know how to talk to people and just destroys everything and doesn’t deserve to spend time with them too.

She angrily wipes her face because she’s _not_ crying, that would be ridiculous. They abandoned her, she doesn’t need them! They can’t hurt her, not anymore!

She wraps her arms around her knees, staring out through the glass wall towards the stars as she desperately hiccups.

She’s going to enjoy destroying them all. Mother left, Thexan left, Arcann left. Maybe she’ll even kill them in that order. Make her brothers see exactly which weakling family member they blindly followed like lost puppies.

Hrmph. At least Thexan tries to reach back. Not that it did any good. His stupid letters about his new family, his kind family, the family he actually wants. He just wanted to rub it in. _Look how happy I am without you_.

If she closes her eyes, the tears will stop right?

Why can’t she just have her nice brothers back? The ones who brought her presents and let her creep into their rooms to cuddle when she was small and scared and needed company even if she’d never admit it?

Why couldn’t they have just stayed in the swamps, together forever?

She’s not sure how long she stays there, rocking back and forth, but eventually something clicks and she jumps to her feet again. It’s useless to dream about that. They left. They don’t want that. She doesn’t want that. It doesn’t matter.

The little bear she carved as a child, with the beads from one of Thexan’s raids on some forgotten world wrapped around it, floats around nearby as though taunting her, and she bats it away in irritation.

Fine. If she can’t hurt them just yet, might as well focus on destroying everything of Father’s that she can find. That is one thing that does actually make her happy

Two more vaults down, only a few more to go that she knows about so far.

Let the Alliance think Zakuul is her first concern. She’ll crush them underfoot eventually.

But first, _Father_.

 

* * *

 

It’s been hours since he went to bed, and yet Arcann can’t quite sleep. This room is too small, this bed is too small, and he’s starting to feel a little suffocated. Well, at least now he finally understands a little more of what it was like to _not_ live in a palace.

It explains a bit more of the people’s ire towards him, no doubt seeing him as just another rich snob like the ruling class he used to mock back on Zakuul. So obsessed with appearances and fame and fortune - he always considered himself completely above their pettiness, even more so than his position as their Emperor. He never had to worry about the sorts of things that ruled their lives. Never had to sit there and negotiate rations and trading routes (and everything else Lieca had been doing all day) to bargain for his very survival.

Although, if he got between Vaylin and her sweets, that might have been debateable. But the only trade contracts he was ever personally involved with were for, in essence, luxuries for the palace and its people. It’s fairly humbling, seeing what others worry about.

And for all of his inexhaustible wealth, he had been all but alone there. At least the Alliance members still have their families, and their friends. Well, what family and friends they all have left after Zakuul swept through the galaxy in a war he’s finally being forced to actually think through and regret.

Scowling, he angrily kicks out of the twisted sheets and stalks over to the tiny dresser cupboard that held his clothes. He is well aware that his room is near constantly monitored - or at least it should be, if the Alliance had any idea what he was capable of - but he doesn’t feel like dealing with the AI that seems to be wired into most of the family rooms in particular, and so he doesn’t say anything.

It’s still oddly terrifying to be in a place offhandedly referred to as the family rooms, as though it’s such an inconsequential thing and not something that is so outside his experience it almost hurts.

He pulls on a pair of loose pants and one of the plain shirts, not bothering to button it up. The clothes had been made for him using Thexan as a guide, but Thexan is slightly larger than him now - between Thexan’s years of more relaxed living and his own forced recovery eating away at some of his own bulk, they are almost an entire size different.

He looks down at his body with disdain, angered at yet another thing being outside his control, and turns to leave the room. He wants to be back in the palace, if only for the security he used to feel in his quarters, all quiet and airy and looking out at the stars. Actually, that’s a thought. Perhaps he can find somewhere outside? Not that he particularly want to go into the dense forests around the base - the agricultural centres are a bit further out, both for their own protection and for the available land. Something to do with soil types? Bah, who even cares, it doesn’t matter to him.

Perhaps up? He vaguely recalls hearing Thexan offhandedly mention one of the access hatches to the roof nearby. That might do. He will be able to breathe up there, hopefully - assuming that Tal’nerra is not standing outside his room waiting to stalk him like an overprotective shadow.

The corridor is blissfully empty. He wonders if the AI is responsible for that.

It takes him a short while to remember the place Thexan had referred to, and he feels rather pleased when he pokes his head out of the access hatch without anyone stopping him or any weird Alliance alarms going off. He knows he’s not exactly a prisoner here, but there’s still an understanding that he won’t wander around too much to ensure he doesn’t upset anyone.

The space itself isn’t particularly large, though still fenced off with safety railings, but it’s so open and free that he doesn’t really care. It’s not home, it’s not the palace - but he can look up and see the stars, and that’s probably as close as he can get for now.

He sighs and moves over to sit down against the wall, already feeling more relaxed as he tilts his head up. Sitting with both legs outstretched isn’t entirely comfortable, so he raises his right knee and rests his hand on it to force a slight change in position. He’s not entirely certain how long he sits there, enjoying the breeze on his face and eventually closing his eyes, but he must doze for a time because the sound of the access hatch engaging again is enough to jerk him awake.

He glares at the space immediately, suddenly extremely tense and trying to focus enough to potentially use lightning if it’s someone unfriendly who followed him, but the tension vanishes when he recognises the bright red hair attached to the intruder.

Calli apparently didn’t see him though, as she pops out of the hatch without a care in the world, and he can’t quite look away from her sleeping attire. The shirt she’s wearing is large enough it could probably almost fit him, but her pants are almost indecently short, barely covering any part of her thighs.

And just in case he had missed out on that view, she then bends over to close the hatch, and he can’t help but drop his eyes to the curve of her ass. No matter what she thinks of him, and how she treated him previously, she is still an extremely attractive woman, and he can’t quite take his eyes off her whenever she’s around. And, well, he didn’t exactly make her come up here and show off for him, but he can still enjoy it.

Perhaps loose pants were not the correct choice of attire for him after all, and he barely manages to hold in his groan as his body decides to make its opinion of her nearly-bare legs known by remembering how they felt wrapped around his head and his hips. Blasted untimely erections, he had gone several hours without thinking of her, was that not enough?

Unlike him, she then moves to lock the hatch, and he realises he should probably say something so that she realises he is here. “Am I not even allowed a few moments peace?” he says crossly.

Alright, perhaps not the best choice of words or tone to use there, but, well, she distracted him! He wasn’t thinking!

Calli, however, _shrieks_ and whirls around so fast she nearly falls over, her hand pressed to her heart and her face pale. “Fuck!” she snaps, eyes wide. “You scared me!”

He frowns. That wasn’t his intention after all. He just wanted her to know that he was here, before she locked herself into a small space with him and...hmm. “I apologise for scaring you,” he says gruffly.

She frowns. “I didn’t even _see_ you there!” she accuses. “Gods, do we have to put a bell on you or something?!”

He blinks in confusion. “A bell would not be useful, considering I am not moving.”

She huffs, folding her arms, and that absolutely does _not_ help his wandering eyes. “Whatever! What are you doing here?”

He gestures. “Sitting.”

She rolls her eyes, arms still huffily crossed. “Yes, smartass, I can see that. Why here? This is my spot!”

It was? Why would Thexan show it to him then? “I do not see your name on it.”

“Well, give me your lightsaber and I’ll carve it into the wall,” she snaps, holding her hand out.

He stares at her. “Ah, no,” he says awkwardly, before frowning. “Besides, I don’t even have it. Your sister does, remember?”

She huffs again, leaning against the railing behind her. “Yeah, imagine that, she doesn’t trust you with the weapon you stabbed her with,” she says, scowling. But after a moment her expression clears, and she looks awkwardly away. “Sorry though. That must kinda suck.”

He blinks again, definitely confused now. “What?”

She gestures helplessly, and he really wishes he could stop looking at her legs and noticing how pale and soft they look in the moonlight. “Your lightsaber being gone. You Force users are obviously attached to the bloody things. And Thexan says you made yours together. Must be special.”

He scowls. “You and Thexan talk about me a lot?”

Her own scowl deepens. “No! We talk about other things too! Gods, it’s not _just_ about you alright?!”

She seems almost embarrassed? What do they even talk about? “Hmm, your reaction makes it seem like that’s not entirely true.”

Even in the moonlight he can tell that she is blushing now, and she waves her hands at him. “Whatever! It doesn’t matter! And you’re still in my spot!”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “This entire roof is not _yours_ , you can’t just make me move!” he says hotly, well aware that if she actually asked him to move rather than throwing a petulant fit he’d probably have a lot more trouble saying no.

And then he falls into a lot more trouble anyway when Calli stalks over to him and slides down the wall next to him, almost uncomfortably close for a woman wearing so little clothing that he wasn’t attempting to seduce. “ _My spot_ ,” she growls.

He’s probably a little off in the head to find that incredibly attractive - perhaps it’s more the continuation of her usual attitude of not falling at his feet that he finds so alluring. Not that he wants her to fall at his feet of course - in fact, knowing her now, he would probably find that more suspicious than anything. “What are you doing?” he asks, annoyed that his voice is a little more high pitched than he would prefer.

And yes, perhaps his pride is a little hurt that she seems completely unaffected at being so close to him while he is in such a relatively undressed state too.

She huffs, leaning sideways to shoulder him a little. “My spot!” she declares again. “Scoot!”

He frowns at her. “I beg your pardon?”

She waves her hands at him, nudging him again with most of her body this time, and he almost wishes he wasn’t wearing pants so that he could feel the softness of her legs against his. But that would reveal a far more immediate predicament, not at all helped by her closeness and the way he can even smell the faintest hint of her perfume now. And she just keeps lightly pushing him. “Mine! Scoot!”

He’s feeling more than a little flustered at this, but is also unwilling to move. Despite everything, he does enjoy being this close to her. “I was here first, I will not move,” he growls.

She tries to nudge him with her shoulder again but it’s almost starting to hurt and so he rolls his shoulder back... and she instead falls across his lap, apparently having put far more of her balance into the charge than he was expecting.

Well. This is exceptionally awkward. Already praying to gods he doesn’t quite believe in, he still doesn’t dare to move, just in case she hasn’t noticed the state of his arousal and therefore trying not to draw attention to it.

When she slowly pushes herself up, him biting back another groan at even that small change in pressure, she is blushing and he knows he’s been caught. “Oh, um, hi. Hello there.”

He looks away, his own cheeks heating up quite substantially. “Hello,” he responds dully, not willing to risk saying anything further.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see her nervously tucking her hair behind her ear as shifts to kneel beside him, sitting on her feet. “Um, so, was I, um... interrupting something?”

It takes a few moments for him to realise what she’s implying and he looks back at her in mild horror. “What?”

She’s still blushing, but looks more determined now. “I mean if I was, I should just leave. Now. Right now. And, um, let you get back to... it?”

“It?”

She frowns. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those idiots who names it, I will lose all respect for you.”

He’s still rather offended. “ _It_?”

She sighs. “Fine. If you’re going to be so prickly - do you need me to leave so that you can get right back to your stupid cock?”

He actually chokes a little at that, only a little impressed (and slightly more turned on) at her vulgarity. “ _What_? I wasn’t! I was _sleeping_.”

She folds her arms, not looking at him, and still rather red. “Nice dreams then?”

He scowls. “I was perfectly fine until you showed up!” he snaps, before freezing as his brain catches up to his mouth and dread creeps up his spine.

A rather awkward silence rings out, and he immediately looks away, trying to focus on anything other than how badly he has misstepped.

But Calli surprises him. “Me?” she asks incredulously. “Because of _me_?”

He forces himself to face her and frowns at the shock on her face. “What does that confuse you?”

She’s still staring at him, her lovely blue eyes wide, and she looks absolutely stunning in the moonlight. “I don’t understand, I didn’t do anything,” she says, still sounding uncertain.

“Do you truly not know how easily you affect me?” he asks, voice low, and her eyes actually widen even further.

“Ah... no?”

“So showing up here in little more than your underwear wasn’t on purpose?”

She scowls, and he realises he might have been sounding a little smug. “I didn’t even know you were up here!” she snaps. “Especially not _up_ here, as the case may be!”

She’s clearly still flustered rather than annoyed, so when she reaches out to lightly shove him again it takes him by surprise; he falls back with a grunt even as she crows in triumph and half-pounces on him, arms on his shoulders while both her legs stay on his right side. “Don’t pin this on me you jerk! I always sleep like this!”

He curses under his breath as he hits the ground, not even really able to defend himself without potentially hurting her. “I seem to recall a little less,” he answers hotly, and if his hand is casually stroking her leg it’s only because she pinned his arm there.

She gasps in shock and it breaks her concentration enough for him to roll over, pinning her half-under him this time. The look on her face is a little hurt, and he realises again that he might have misstepped. “Callistra-”

She immediately scowls, pushing off enough to knock him back to the ground. “Stop _pretending_ , alright,” she says angrily, putting more of her weight on his shoulders. “You don’t need to anymore, you already got what you wanted!”

He looks up at her, a little impressed at how easily she moved him, but also a little worried at the hurt he’d seen on her face. “I’m not pretending,” he says quietly. “I thought that was obvious. I have not lied to you.”

She stares at him, and he rolls up to a sitting position, preening a little at the admiration in her eyes as she also moves to kneel beside him again. “What?” she asks faintly.

He sighs. “I have been told at many points in my life that I am not subtle. Did you truly not realise?”

She looks suddenly bashful, and for once her rapidly changing moods might actually work in his favour. “No…?” she answers, half-question half-answer in her response.

He’s probably pushing so many lines here, but if she keeps looking at him like that, he really doesn’t give a damn. “Not even when you kissed me?” he continues, reaching his hand up to gently move a lock of hair off her face. Every instinct is screaming not to let her in again, but she just looks so...he can’t even describe it. He just knows he doesn’t want it to stop.

Her breath catches when he moves, and he dares to hope she’s not going to push him away again. “No?” she answers again, sounding slightly less uncertain and a little more playful.

Gods, he wants her to be playful with him, that sweet intimacy she showed when she laughed in his bed all those months ago. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice gruff as he leaves his hand on the side of her face.

Her eyes are so dark he’s almost sure he could fall into them, her expression soft as she looks at him and nods slightly.

He leans closer, trying to hide his smirk at the way her lips part a little-

And her comm goes off.

The sound is unbearably shrill in the silence and Calli just about _leaps_ backwards from him, falling on her ass as she screams again, and even he rears back from the noise. He stares at her, feeling a little wounded (he was so fucking _close_ ), but she’s already rummaging around for her comm, obviously incredibly flustered, and he wishes it was just his presence and not her shock at the noise.

“ _Calli_!”

She fumbles the comm for a moment, surprisingly shooting him an apologetic look before activating the visual display. “Holiday? What did you find?”

The tiny woman that appears in her comm somehow looks weird when she’s not bright pink like the other times he’s met her. _“Oh, it’s just awful darling! I was digging through the systems, like you asked, and I found a connection to the Eternal Fleet, and it’s been reactivated! Oh, I just_ know _SCORPIO is behind all this. Please, you must come help me at once! We need to try whatever we can before we have to wake your sisters, I’m so sorry to bother you!”_

Calli shakes her head, already looking more alert. “It’s fine Holiday, I did ask you to check for me. Good thing I couldn’t sleep eh? I’ll be back in a moment, I’m just up on the roof.”

_“Okay sweetheart. But please, hurry back! I’ll call T7 too, and between the three of us I’m sure we can get right to the bottom of this! See you soon!”_

Calli hangs up, eyes closed for a moment before she suddenly stands up, awkwardly dusting off her legs. “Um, well, you... you heard her. I... I really need to get going. Before... anything happens.”

He nods, not really trusting his voice, and Calli quickly moves over to the hatch without looking at him. “Well, goodnight then!” she says hastily, smoothly jumping inside, and he doesn’t even take the time to stare at her legs again this time.

“Sweet dreams,” he replies gruffly.

The sound of the hatch closing echoes uncomfortably in the silence she leaves behind.

Suddenly it doesn’t seem so peaceful up here anymore.

What is he even doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ona'la, Jaelin, Anya and Thexan's life and personality all belong to the lovely Defira!


	34. Cantina

“Calli? Are you listening to me?”

Calli blinks, pulled from her thoughts by Thexan’s amused voice to her right. “Um... something about the girls?”

Thexan smirks. “Almost, but not quite. Are you alright? You seem rather out of it today.”

She sighs, reaching up to rub her forehead. “Ugh, sorry,” she says quietly. “Just tired, I guess.”

His expression is sympathetic. “You’ve been staying up too late working with Holiday, haven’t you?”

She frowns, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Kinda busy plugging the giant fuc-fun security hole, yeah” she snaps back, remembering at the last second that curious little ears and ear cones are probably tuned into her every word.

True to form, Anya suddenly appears in front of her, elbows on her knees where she sits on the couch with the little twi’lek’s father. “Calli! Come play with us!”

Calli looks at Thexan pleadingly and he smiles. “Now now, eya, you don’t want to abandon the twins, now, do you? What if she joined Cera’s side? You wouldn’t want them to feel left out, hmm?”

Anya’s eyes widen comically, and she speeds off towards the other side of the room where Cera is watching a game of tag between her own daughters, Anya, Calinda, Felix’s eldest Togruta child (what was their name again), and some of the other similarly-aged children from the base. Cera seems to be acting as referee more than anything, making sure the Force-users aren’t taking advantage of their Force-lacking playmates.

As they watch, one of the children tries to tag Cera, who dramatically staggers to one knee at the touch. Which is apparently all an act to lure the children in closer, because she then imitates some sort of feral reek going by her dramatic roar as she throws her head back, and the kids scatter with delighted screams.

Calli smiles at the sight before being distracted by her holo beeping; Thexan sighs in exasperation as she reaches for it. “Calli, please. You need some time to yourself. Stop worrying.”

She glares at him. “But I’ve been waiting for the system to update for _hours_ now, and I-”

She’s cut off mid-sentence by Thexan suddenly swiping her datapad, looking all too pleased with himself. “Break time,” he says in a sing-song voice that reminds her of Geralt so much she has to check he’s still on the other side of the room with the other parents.

She growls and lunges for him, but he quickly stands up and holds it above his head. “The Gravestone isn’t even here,” he says smugly. “No work for you.”

“Thexan!” she whines, all but jumping up and down in front of him to try and swipe it back. Why are the Tiralls all so _tall_? “Give it back!”

She jumps onto the couch to try to reach his hand, before they’re both distracted by soft laughter from the couch in front of them; they look down to see Senya smiling at them in amusement. “Children, please,” she says teasingly.

Thexan looks briefly chastised, and Calli takes advantage of his lapsed attention to quickly jump up to swipe it back. “Ha!”

He growls and she dances out of reach, sticking her tongue out at him. “I win!” she says delightedly, clutching the datapad to her chest as she jumps up and down on the couch.

Senya shakes her head. “I see where the _actual_ children get it from,” she observes mildly, but Calli decides to ignore her.

The last few days have been a bit of a blur, and she appreciates that Thexan is trying to help her tune out a little, but she’s kind of stressed for a _reason_. Holiday had found a security breach, a remote uplink from the Spire that seemed to indicate SCORPIO, and they’d spent most of the first day just trying to figure out what in the foggy ass swamp the dumb droid was looking for.

It turned out that SCORPIO was piggy-backing off a datastream that connected the Gravestone and the Eternal Fleet, a signal so carefully balanced against the massive amounts of data the alien computers in the Gravestone transmitted that it had gone unnoticed until now; no doubt the droid was using it to replace the data Holiday had wiped about their location during their previous battle over Alderaan. If only she hadn’t been so distracted with everything else over the last few months, she might have discovered that connection sooner - Holiday’s distressed wailing over the same thing didn’t make her feel much better, even after Lieca begged them both to calm down.

All of their trusted slicers had spent the better part of the next two days trying to figure out a way to dismantle or interrupt the signal, or at least find some way to stop the Gravestone being potentially tracked by the Fleet. They’d had some additional help arrive in the form of Vette, after she and her wife Jaesa showed up rather fortuitously for a visit with Jezhara. Holiday and T7 had even risked themselves trying to reconnect to previously established ports on Zakuul in Breaktown, to see if they could learn anything about SCORPIO or her movements.

In a surprising and uneasy turn of events, the Fleet hasn’t made any moves towards Odessen, which means that either SCORPIO didn’t know where they were - or was deliberately hiding it from Vaylin, keeping the information quietly in reserve. Calli much preferred the first choice, but Lieca quietly pointed out it was more likely to be the second.

So, a homicidal droid working for a homicidal galactic Empress knows exactly where they live. Fantastic. Faaaaantastic.

In the end, Theron and T7 discovered through their various contacts that SCORPIO was singularly focused on the Gravestone, while Vaylin seemed completely disinterested. Lieca seemed worried about that, but hey - she’d take what she could get at this point. It was eventually decided to move the Gravestone off-world, and see if they could lure the Fleet into a trap... or at least keep their attention away from Odessen.

Lieca had still seemed worried, and so they sent a whole team with the Gravestone - Lana as the team leader, Raj and Koth as pilots with their usual crews, T7 and Vette as cyber security, and Jezhara, Jaesa, Skyrii, Torian and Tal’nerra as physical security. Personally, Calli thought that that many people was wasted on what was likely to be ship-to-ship combat if anything, but it was pretty hard to talk back to Lieca’s distressed face. She seemed worried about something else, and so off everyone went as ordered.

Damnit, why was Lieca the only one in the family with the good puppy eyes? It’s not fair!

But on that bright side, all the work gave her plenty of time to avoid Arcann and... fuck. She checks her chrono to see that it’s only been one hour since she thought of him, and sighs.

At this rate she’ll never win.

Senya makes a mildly distressed noise, drawing her back to the present, and Thexan stops pouting to all but leap to her side before she waves him off. “Don’t fuss,” Senya mutters. “I just need to go lie down for awhile. I seem to have overtaxed myself after playing with the girls earlier.”

He still looks upset, but before he can try to help his mother stand up, they all start at the ear-piercing shriek from the other side of the room which - judging from the wailing that follows - seems to indicate that Anya has injured herself somehow. Did she run into the cupboard again?

Thexan looks briefly torn before Calli sighs. “Go help Anya, I’ll go with Senya,” she says, making shooing motions with her hands before he runs off.

Senya tries to make the same gestures at her but she ignores it, stepping forward to steady Senya as she stands up. “If you faint because you’re being stubborn, I’ll set my sister on you,” she warns.

Senya looks at her, eyes almost glinting. “Except that she would likely bring my son with her,” she says, almost sounding smug.

Calli decides to do the mature thing and ignore her comment entirely, before they turn to head back to Senya’s room.

It’s true that, for lack of anything else to do, Lieca has strong-armed Arcann into working with her in the healer’s quarters. Apparently, despite all his muttered protestations, he does have some aptitude for Force healing, and so from the reports she’s been getting from Holiday, he’s been put to work. And of course since most of the base still justifiably wants him dead, they’ve been recruiting friends and family to play practice on. Lieca’s definitely been setting her puppy eyes on everyone to try to get them to at least accept his healing, if nothing else.

She’s pretty sure Doc got dragged into it too, to start teaching some of the non-Force methods, with Lieca on close standby to monitor the endless streams of sarcasm between them both.

Well, better he be put to work than sit in his rooms all day and sulk, or sit up on the roof and sulk and _steal her spot_.

“You know my dear, your heart is doing some fairly impressive acrobatics right now,” Senya observes. “Are you all right?”

She scoffs. “Of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be? Just dealing with deranged droids and angry dictators and just a few stressful situations.” She winces the moment the words leave her mouth, feeling Senya mentally retreat from the offhand mention of her daughter. “I... sorry.”

Senya shakes her head. “It is fine,” she says politely, even though it obviously wasn’t.

They walk in silence until they reach Senya’s room, and Calli hovers a little anxiously as the older woman moves over to her bed. Senya seems to be studiously avoiding her gaze though. “Are you alright with my son being here?” she asks without warning, straightening her pillows.

Calli starts, immediately folding her arms defensively. “What?”

Senya just turns and gives her a Look. “I remember... how hard it was, to see Valkorion after everything... fell apart,” she starts awkwardly. “To go from what we had to... _nothing_ , was... it was awful.”

Calli frowns. “It’s not the same,” she mutters hesitantly as Senya slowly moves to sit on the bed, back propped up with pillows.

“True. My husband’s motivations were significantly different from my son’s,” she observes quietly. “But I feel that our responses... might be a little similar regardless.”

Calli stares at her. “Um, I really don’t want to be rude here, but you had a marriage. Kids! Of course you had a right to be upset that your dickhead of a partner treated you so poorly.” She desperately needed a distraction, so she moved over and starting adjusting the blankets for her, checking to see that the pitcher beside the bed was full of water, should she need it. “It was supposed to be more than that!”

Senya nods. “True. And from the look on your faces when you interact, whatever you and my son had was ‘ _supposed to be more_ ’ too.”

Her traitorous heart thumps in her chest, but she ignores it. “Maybe they were just both really good at lying and we fell for it, even after telling ourselves not to,” she says, stomping over to the little kitchenette to refill the water. “Not that our situations are that comparable - I don’t think being schmoozed into one night of sex is the same as being actually fucking _married_ for Esne’s sake.”

... perhaps not the best thing to explicitly point out to Arcann’s _mother_ , but well, too late to take it back now.

Senya does look a little embarrassed when she turns back around though, and looks down at her hands. “Is he... is he different? To how he was before?”

Calli frowns. “What?”

“He... I did not know him as an adult, other than the broadcasts. What… what was he like? Was he different?”

She blinks. “Um… again, not really comparable situations,” she says awkwardly, setting the pitcher back down on the bedside and desperately looking around for something else to occupy her hands so that she isn’t just standing around like an idiot candidly talking about sex with _Arcann’s mother_. “He isn’t exactly trying to seduce me again.”

Memories of him maybe trying to kiss her the other night are studiously ignored.

Senya just raises her eyebrow, and she sighs in frustration. “He does seem different,” she mutters eventually, picking up Senya’s discarded slippers and setting them back by the door. “He was... arrogant, and smug, and clearly revelling in his power. That sort of quiet unquestionable authority that, like... like Jezhara exudes, sometimes? But he was... significantly more aware of it. It’s… weird, seeing him all quiet and I guess… submissive now? It’s him but... not, at the same time.”

Senya hums. “I remember - such confidence is certainly an attractive quality in its own way, let alone anything else. But it’s refreshing to hear he’s not incredibly different despite the changes in his position,” she says, before pausing and looking down at her folded hands in her lap. “The Voss seemed to imply the ritual would change him, not just heal his body but his mind also. I wanted to help my son, to give him an opportunity to escape his unhealthy mindset, his fear and anger - but not to change his basic nature to something I desired. I wanted him to be happier, healthier, and away from his father’s influence, but I wanted him to still be his own person in the process. And it is hard to judge that, when there are few people who knew him personally before and now. Thank you for answering my question.”

Calli shifts her arms slightly, more of a hug than folding them angrily, and Senya seems to notice the gesture. “Calli? Are you alright?”

She looks away for a moment. “Glad I could help you, but I wish it didn’t have to involve everyone else treating me like some sort of damsel in distress in the process. Like I’ll shatter into a million pieces if he looks at me funny. He was a dick, yeah, but like... I made that choice. He gave me the option to walk away, and I didn’t. I’m furious that I let him hurt me but... I don’t regret that choice. And you’re the only one who’s asked me about it and not immediately been like ‘ _oh, poor Calli_ ’ and you’re his fucking _mother_. You should be the most mortified!”

Senya hums under her breath again, clearly amused. “Ah,” she says, clearly trying not to smile. Calli, despite her common sense, carefully sinks into the chair beside the bed, perched awkwardly on the very edge of the cushion as if unsure as to whether it’s safe to get comfortable. “Perhaps it is because I remember something similar. Valkorion, he... he did not demand my attention, but asked for it. What is the difference, some might ask, when the power imbalance in our situation was so vast - but it was important that he asked, and thrilling. The choice was mine, and mine alone. Yet after we drifted apart, those that knew me were convinced he must have bound me somehow.”

Calli blows her hair off her forehead. “Yeah, like that. It’s good, having my family and friends so willing to support me but... I’m not so fragile. It was a choice, and I made it. And well, dealing with him now, without that daunting expectation behind him - it’s a helluva lot easier.”

Senya raises an eyebrow. “So you have no feelings towards him at all anymore?”

She blinks. “What?”

Senya’s expression is carefully blank, but she someone _knows_ she’s hiding a smug grin. “My son. If he is the same person that you chose before-”

Calli backs away immediately, sensing a trap. “Now wait just a minute-” she interrupts hotly, jumping to her feet.

Senya draws back, expression more demure. “I apologise, I meant no offence,” she says quickly.

Calli huffs. “Yeah, he’s the same person, so that stands to reason he’s got the same attitude towards all of his partners - no, sorry, _conquests_ , - and hey, he already had his one time with me. So he’s done. Obviously. Let’s not be ridiculous.”

“If you say so,” Senya answers politely.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask what she means by that, but that would require giving away her interest in the answer and so she refuses to ask. Nope. Not interested. Senya isn’t implying anything at all. No secret insight into Arcann’s mind - not that she cares anyway. Ahem.

Calli jerks her head in a nod. “I do,” she mutters crossly. “Are you alright here then?

Senya nods back. “Yes, I will be fine here. You may escape as you like.”

She might be exceptionally annoyed that Senya can see it like that... but not so annoyed to not take the opportunity, and Calli flees immediately.

Hrmph. It doesn’t matter. At all.

 

* * *

 

Cera wanders through the younglings’ training session, amused to see her old mentor sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room with her niece sitting opposite her, clearly mimicking her pose.

She wonders if Flissa still calls Satele ‘Grandma’, or if Theron’s mild horror has caused her to stop.

Further reflection on the subject is stopped as Flissa’s wide brown eyes suddenly open, beaming as she recognises her aunt, and she bounds over to her side with all the glee of her own daughters. Force, but she loves Flissa with all her heart, just as if she was one of her own daughters, but it makes all the difference in the world to have her actual mother back. Flissa had always been a little solemn, a little quieter compared to the twins, and maybe that was also the result of being the oldest. Whatever the reason, her beautiful niece has a vivacity to her that was missing these last few years, and as she bounds over towards her like an overeager puppy, she has a brief moment where she has to fight off an ambush of tears. “Aunty!” Flissa declares happily, the little beads woven into her hair clinking as she bounces. “Is it lunchtime then?”

Cera nods. “Yeah, you’re free to go hun,” she says, leaning down to kiss her fiercely on top of her head. She doesn’t have to bend down quite as far anymore. “Your mum’s in the study, if you want to go surprise her before Theron shows up?”

Fliisa grins. “Of course!” she says, before turning to wave at Satele. “Bye Grandma!” she hollers, before disappearing in what had to be a Force-enhanced flash of speed.

Cera blinks after her and looks at Satele, whose expression is a familiar mix of scolding amusement; a round of giggles emerges from the assembled younglings, and at Cera’s pointed look, they all hastily close their eyes and pretend to be meditating again. “Alright, I promise I didn’t teach her that,” she says cheerfully, moving over to sit in front of Satele.

The older woman raises an eyebrow at her as she settles. “As always, Cera, I shall pretend to believe you. I think your stories get more ridiculous as you age, which is quite an accomplishment.”

Cera salutes as another smattering of giggles comes from behind her. “I aim to please,” she drawls, moving her hands to her knees before lowering her voice. “So, how are you?”

Satele nods. “Quite well, thank you.”

Cera concentrates for a moment and Satele frowns, feeling the flicker of her Force powers like a tap on the forehead. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of Naboo. A real answer, please.”

Satele slowly exhales. “Drained,” she says eventually, keeping her voice pitched so that none of the children can hear her. “The shield... it is no longer holding, despite our best efforts. But you knew that already.”

Cera nods, trying not to pay attention to the sheer dread that runs down her spine. “Of course I did,” she says quietly, her expression giving nothing away. “Are you... sure?”

The sudden appearance of Darth Marr’s ghost has stopped being unsettling, but it still makes her jump, even as faded as it is. From the assorted squeals behind her, it’s obviously still something the younglings need to get used to as well. “We are already doing all we can,” he snaps, but his image is almost distorted; Cera glances over her shoulder at the younglings and makes calming gestures, and they settle again with a little whispering amongst themselves. “You insult us by asking more.”

Cera turns back and glares at him, memories of her early years of Knighthood almost clogging her throat. “More has always been requested of us. Why should now be any different for you?”

Satele’s expression is pained, and Marr merely folds his arms. “Your rudeness is unwelcome.”

“My sister is in danger, from _your_ ex-Emperor. I do not care about your feelings.”

“Now Master Amell,” Satele says, raising her voice for the benefit of the children who are undoubtedly eavesdropping eagerly on every word, “it is not the Jedi way to be inconsiderate and dismissive of other people’s feelings. We must always strive to reach an understanding with others, not sow discord.”

Marr scoffs, apparently ignoring Satele’s attempts to soothe over the tension. “He is not _our_ Emperor, anymore than he was yours. That festering fool who calls himself Valkorion has done nothing but-”

Marr’s ghost shimmers out of focus, and Satele winces as his voice cuts off. “Must you antagonise each other so much?” she mutters, starting to glow as she tries to re-establish the connection. “And in front of the children?”

Cera shrugs. If Marr did not want to be insulted, he should not be such a brat. She does not have Lieca’s tolerance for these mind-games, not anymore - although she does feel a little bad that the children have to bear witness to the argument. “I did not come here to be insulted, I came for answers.”

Marr’s disembodied voice echoes nearby. “You will not like them.”

Cera looks at Satele, trying to keep from flinching at the look on her old Master’s face; for a moment, it’s like she’s sixteen again, and having to answer for her braggadocio once again. “I have never liked them,” she says quietly, bowing her head in a somewhat respectful manner while maintaining eye contact. She is not sixteen anymore, and she is just as much a Master as Satele. “Tell me anyway.”

Satele sighs. “Cera, please-”

Cera cuts her off. “Is it helping? With the Gravestone further away?”

There’s a spark of interest in Satele’s eyes, and Marr finally stabilises enough again to be a distinct person, rather than just a haunting presence. “What do you suspect?” Satele asks quickly.

Cera huffs. Lieca’s mind is not safe anymore, and the connection they share... “Children, consider this your leave for the morning,” she calls over her shoulder; the announcement is met with a round of whoops of excitement, as the younglings all scatter and head for the door, leaving Cera alone with Satele and Marr. She takes a deep breath. “You know as well as I do, everything we learn could be at risk. Lieca can feel him lurking again, and I will not endanger her further. So we’re trying not to figure it all out but... she keeps dreaming of the Dark Sanctuary. I think it’s connected, somehow.”

Marr pauses, image flickering again. “The Dark Sanctuary? The chamber on the Gravestone?”

Cera nods. “Tal’nerra went to investigate, before the others took the ship away. He could definitely sense something there - you know he’s always been better than us at observing the history of places, of feeling connections that elude us.”

Satele smiles. “It used to frustrate Lieca when she was very young. She always wanted to learn the most,” she says, before her smile fades. “Her work took her from her studies too often.”

Cera suddenly wishes she’d brought her husband with her - Archiban’s flippancy and light-hearted refusal to take anything seriously was very good at annoying others, but he could also read her very well, and she could use his smile and his brand of silliness and his arms around her right now. “The war took a lot from all of us,” she says sadly.

She doesn’t regret her place in the war, her role in protecting the Republic and the Jedi and hope. She does regret the harm it brought to her family at the same time - because even as she found T7, Kira, Archiban, and their beautiful daughters, she had to watch her sisters suffer in the process. Protect and love her beautiful niece, and support her twin’s grieving partner. Love and support Calli, and send her into the seedy underground of the dragon’s den.

A guardian, who kept failing in protecting those closest to her.

She suddenly has the image of Kira walloping her with the hilt of her lightsaber, and even the thought chases away her brief melancholy. She could never be sad with her best friend around, even if it’s just the thought of her to cheer her up.

She quickly shakes herself. “Anyway. Tal’nerra sensed something there - he said it almost felt like it was part of Zakuul? He said it feels like the edges of Lieca’s mind, when he’s concentrating and she lets him in. It’s the main reason I wanted to send him with the Gravestone team.”

Satele looks faintly amused. “That, and his calm demeanour will hopefully keep your eclectic crew in line.”

She grins. “That too.” She’s very glad Tal’nerra is back with them. He might have been often exasperated by their antics when he was mentoring her, Lieca, and Kira, but he was a good friend.

Hmm, she really needs to find him somebody - she’s quite certain he’s not asexual, so surely there’s someone out there to tempt him. A project to file away for another day. “From all reports, the Spire is definitely tracking the Gravestone now. Vaylin seems fairly interested, which is rare for her these days. She’s difficult to pin down at the best of times - I am suspicious of the timing here.”

Marr huffs. “Did you speak to Cipher Nine?”

She blinks. “Saria? Oh, SCORPIO. Yeah, Saria passed on some insights - seems to fit exactly what she expected of that droid. Her single-minded focus about the Eternal Fleet is... odd though. Vette and T7 even took that old GEMINI droid with them to study. Maybe they’ll find something else?”

Marr growls. “What of Valkorion?”

She glares at him. “I already told you, I can’t safely plan anything if you don’t want him to counter it,” she says crossly. “Jahlia’s looking into it for me. I think she’ll make her way here at some point over the next month or so, probably after Jezhara’s back. Want me to book you in?”

For a man without a living body or a visible face, it’s kind of impressive that she can still feel his glare. “Darth Imperius is not allowed to attempt to bind me to her will,” he snarls.

Cera smirks. “I’ll let you tell Jahlia that,” she teases, waiting until he puffs up in indignation before she settles him. “Calm down, she’s not gonna try that, honestly. She’s got better things to do now than binding ghosts. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Satele is still smiling as she looks between the two of them, fond exasperation on her face. “Do you know what Jahlia plans?”

She sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s fairly obvious that Valkorion did something pretty awful to Vaylin in the past,” she says quietly. “I think Vaylin might be the key, somehow. Once Arcann settles in a bit more, I want someone to talk to him about it. Thexan would probably know too, but Arcann seems to be the one who brought Vaylin back to Zakuul from wherever she was, and has been living with her for years. He might have more insight, once he grows to trust us a little more.”

Satele nods. “If you do not trust your own minds, Tal’nerra would likely be a good choice for that too,” she observes. “He has Lieca’s charms and trustworthy nature, but without the... complications of what lurks in her mind.”

Marr huffs again, folding his arms. “Speaking of which, you do know it would be far easier to continue shielding her if she stopped deliberately weakening herself?”

Cera frowns. “What-”

Marr waves his hand, his form flickering again at his emotions. He really does seem weaker recently, it’s a little alarming. “The shields she insists on maintaining over this place. It is no wonder she is so quick to tire these days. Such senseless sacrifice is merely making everything more difficult.”

Cera folds her arms. “I’d like to see you try to tell her not to shield the people she loves,” she snaps. “If I can’t, you certainly don’t have a chance in a Corellian hell. She spent years shielding people she barely even knew, of course she would give all she can for her family and friends!”

She swallows, continuing at a far softer tone once she has reigned in her sudden temper outburst. “And it is necessary. We do need protection here. We’re so close to Zakuul, and now that Vaylin is aware of us and the family we have here - she’s looking for us, for our Force users, even if it seems like she isn’t. Lieca needs to do this, and we need to support her, not condemn her, no matter how much it breaks our hearts.”

Marr snarls. “You ask too much of her. No one mortal can take this much strain and seal the Emperor at the same time.”

Cera smirks, fairly sure even Marr could tell how brittle the expression feels. “Just you watch. You’ve always underestimated her.”

The truth of the statement rings out through the suddenly quiet room, and Cera wishes she could believe as strongly as she defends. She and Lieca have survived everything else, they’ll survive this too. They _will_.

Satele looks suddenly sad. “We always asked too much of you, of both of you,” she says quietly. “The war led us all into situations we would rather avoid, and the two of you did so well... it was too easy to fall into the trap of relying on you for everything. There was too much pressure on you both. But Lieca does not need to do this alone anymore. Neither of you do. We are here to help.”

Cera quickly reaches out to squeeze Satele’s hand, smiling. “I know. But you’re already doing enough, trying to seal him while we try to find another way. And she’s not alone, this time. We are all playing our part.”

Satele looks so tired when she squeezes her hand back, her master’s eyes almost dull even as she smiles. “I know, my dear. That’s all we can do.”

She nods, not trusting her voice. “Good. If either of you have more ideas - please let Lana, Jezhara, or Tal’nerra know. The less myself or Lieca know... the safer the plan is.”

Satele nods back. “May the Force be with you,” she says quietly, as Cera stands and moves over to the door.

Cera looks back, noting how Marr’s form seems so much weaker as he kneels on her vacated cushion. “May the Force be with you,” she answers back, mercifully shutting the door behind her.

She leans back against the wall, closing her eyes and breathing in deep before she pulls out her comm. “Arch?”

Her husband’s image appears almost immediately judging from the sound of his voice. _“Heya gorgeous, what’s - Cera? Are you alright?”_

She sighs, keeping her eyes closed. “Maybe?” she says helplessly. “Where are you?”

_“Down by the medlabs, but I’m on my way up to you now. Is this an ‘Amell chocolate’ emergency or a ‘Risk-my-life-and-limb-stealing-Ona’la’s-chocolates’ emergency?”_

She giggles tiredly, rubbing at her face. “How could you tell?”

He clicks his tongue, and she can picture his face even without looking. _“Ah, sweetheart, you think I can’t read you by now? Come on, gimme some credit.”_

She smiles. “I think just hugs would be nice. But if you bring chocolate, I won’t say no.”

_“I’ve already cleared my schedule. I love you.”_

 

* * *

 

Arcann swings his legs off the edge of the rooftop area, arms resting on the middle bar of the railing and his chin resting on his hands.

There had been another few incidents in the medbay this morning when Lieca was distracted, and it’s once again left him feeling gloomy. He knows that people are well within their rights to distrust and even hate him, but dealing with their accusations directly is a... different experience than he was expecting.

Lieca tries to defend him or keep him away from those with cause to hate him most, but... he is slowly beginning to understand their perspective. Hot flushes of shame, the beginnings of guilt - they’re not good emotions, but it helps him realise exactly what part he has played in all of this.

_“How many people joined us just because you turned on the people they loved?”_

He can still hear Calli’s voice echoing in his head, pointing out that he had created his own enemy. Too busy focusing on how to prove himself to the standards his father had set, treating the entire thing like the strategy games he and Thexan spent their childhood being forced to learn (not play, never play). But instead of pieces on a board, he had been toying with people’s lives. It had been almost easy, to distance himself from it all - it was just the requirements of being an Emperor, just necessary to maintain supply lines, just needed to curb insurrections, just a game, just a way to keep the peace, just a way for him to come out on top. Justifications on justifications.

Far harder to look into the faces of the families of those he killed - a murderer brought down to the size of the ants he once so thoughtlessly destroyed.

It’s a learning experience, and he understands the grief and hatred people feel towards him - but it is something he can only take in small bursts. People don’t tend to say anything to him if Lieca is nearby, or his family, but they can’t be with him every hour of the day.

So sometimes, it’s just easier to hide away and be by himself. No-one to criticise him then, except himself and well, he’s certainly used to that.

The hatch nearby suddenly disengages and he almost spins to look at it before feeling the echo of Thexan’s presence, and grumpily resumes staring at the horizon. He certainly wasn’t hoping that it was Calli, no, not at all. Stupid to even consider that the woman who so easily left him before would want anything to do with him now, he knows that now.

He’s had a few days away from her to think about it - she’s been so busy with whatever security breach is happening, not that anyone tells him anything - and he’s grateful that she gave him a chance to withdraw from his monumentally stupid decision-making.

Why would someone like her want to kiss someone like him, without the position of Emperor, without the wealth and status he could once offer?

Why would he want someone like her, who clearly only aimed to distract him and save her sister’s life? She seemed happy enough in his arms, yet clearly never bothered to look back. And why would she?

He wishes the kiss she gave him on Nar Shaddaa didn’t still haunt his thoughts. It was just because he saved her life. Maybe she was still trying to manipulate him. He doesn’t want to think her capable of that level of deceit but... it couldn’t be anything else.

Could it?

“I’m glad to see you too,” Thexan says dryly, cutting across his thoughts as he lifts himself out onto the roof. “Truly, it’s wonderful to feel such a sense of disappointment from your own brother at your presence.”

He huffs in response, waiting to see what side Thexan moves to. Of course he sits on his right, and he instinctively tucks around himself a little further.

“Don’t sulk, I just know it’s easier for you to hear me when I sit on this side,” Thexan says, tone light even as he settles in. “I’m not afraid of your arm, no matter how much you worry about it.”

The thought makes a lump form in his throat. “I’m not sulking.”

“Mm-hmm. You’re very convincing, truly.”

He scowls, still looking straight ahead. “What are you doing here?”

Thexan sighs. “Arcann, I know things are not... what they were, between us, but I still know when you are upset. I still want to help.”

He huffs, not bothering to lift his head off his arms. “You should know better by now,” he says dully.

He doesn’t need to move his head to feel the way Thexan’s expression shifts. At least some things do not change.

Well, so he thought, until he suddenly feels a sharp pinch on his bicep. “Ow!”

He immediately turns his head to glare at his twin, Thexan looking rather pleased with himself. “What was that for?” he snaps.

Thexan rolls his eyes. “You are being melodramatic for no reason again. Five years is not enough time for me to suddenly find that acceptable behaviour.”

Arcann scowls, shuffling further away from him. “First time I’ve heard you admit that five years was not long enough,” he mutters grumpily.

Thexan does look a little hurt at that, and he feels the worst sort of monster. He has his twin back, the other half of himself that he thought was gone forever - why does he insist on being so cruel to him?

_Just trying to make him save himself, trying to keep him away so he won’t get hurt again._

Thexan suddenly frowns, and he gets the feeling he projected that more than he wanted to. “What?”

“Arcann, don’t start that again. You can’t scare me away - you never did. It was not fear that kept me away from Zakuul, you know that. And I’m not afraid of you now,” his twin starts crossly, before suddenly smiling. “If I haven’t learned yet that you’ll brood no matter what, you can’t expect me to learn fear too.”

Arcann stares at him. “When did you become so positive?” he mutters.

Thexan seems surprised at the question. “What?”

Arcann jerks his head. “You were always eager to help but never this... _cheerful_ about it all.”

Thexan frowns. “I don’t-”

“It’s your _wife_ , isn’t it?”

Thexan immediately shifts his hand to rub the back of his head bashfully, and Arcann tries not to let his bitterness show. Thexan is both so similar and so different to the man he killed all those years ago - and it’s obvious that the difference is his wife, his family. He’s had someone to love and support him for years now, with none of the trappings of Zakuul or his blood family to hurt him.

Ona’la stayed by his side, she didn’t run away. She knew what he had done and still supported him. She didn’t kiss him and leave.

He’s not jealous at all.

Thexan’s expression immediately softens, and Arcann is struck again by the change in him. “Ona’la has been very good to me, yes,” Thexan says quietly, looking out over the horizon himself. “I would be dead without her, a hundred times over. She saved my life, made me realise it was worth living - even before anything romantic happened between us. She was my friend first and that was... unprecedented. You know how it was, for us.”

“Is.”

Thexan blinks in confusion, looking back at him. “What?”

“Is. Just because you have friends now does not mean that I do.”

Okay, perhaps he did let _some_ bitterness through that time.

To his surprise, Thexan almost laughs. “Really? What would you call Lieca then?”

It’s Arcann’s turn to blink in surprise. “What?”

Thexan shakes his head. “Just give it time, you’ll realise it eventually. Everyone does. She’s very similar to Ona’la, in some ways. I’m still not entirely sure how we became friends... and we’ve been married for years now.”

He doesn’t really have an answer for that, and silence reigns for a few moments as they both take in the view.

When Thexan finally speaks again, there’s an odd note to it that instantly puts Arcann on guard. “So…” he starts slyly. “If Lieca isn’t your friend... what about Calli?”

He briefly considers the fantasy of pushing him off the edge for that (he had the Force to protect him, and it’s not that giant a drop to the next platform, he would be fine). “What about her?” he says stiffly.

Thexan shrugs. “You seem... _different_ with her.”

Arcann glares at him. “From what I have heard, you would be far closer to be being considered her friend than I.”

Thexan frowns. “She did try to punch me though.”

“She _shot_ me.”

Thexan blinks in surprise. “What? When?”

His brief flash of a good mood vanishes instantly. “Asylum,” he mutters, turning back to the horizon. A place where he made one of the stupidest decisions of his life, so desperate to hurt his father that he ignored everything telling him not to.

He can still hear Calli’s heartbroken scream when he hurt Lieca.

It shouldn’t matter, but it _does_.

Thexan suddenly shakes him, and he reacts almost violently, catching himself at the last second. “Hey!”

Thexan looks worried, and he scowls at him. “Do not startle me,” he snaps.

Thexan frowns. “I’m just worried, Arcann,” he starts, and he angrily cuts him off.

“Are you on her side too?”

“What? I’m on no-one’s ‘ _side_ ’, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

He swallows, and from somewhere, the words come. “She was the only person I ever took my mask off for, other than my doctors,” he says quietly. “And then I found out she was just there to save her sister. She lied to me. I thought... I thought she was there for _me_. The only person who ever even pretended to see me as a person... and she was just playing pretend. Everyone acts as though she’s the only one allowed to be upset but... it was different. _She_ was different. And she still walked away, without a care.”

They sit there in silence for another moment before Thexan speaks again, sounding confused. “Wait, the only person you removed your mask for? I thought you, well, um... lots of people?”

Arcann frowns. “What? Yes, of course I had multiple consorts. What of it?”

To his sudden amusement, Thexan almost seems to be blushing. “Well, surely you had to take your mask off before then?” he says, his voice slightly higher pitched. “How did you kiss them?”

He stares at his twin. “I did not need to,” he answers slowly.

Thexan look even more flustered, unable to make eye contact with him. “But, uh, I thought-”

His brother’s naivete is suddenly intensely amusing. “I had _other_ uses for them,” he drawls.

Thexan’s wrinkled nose and mildly horrified expression is amazing, and he smirks. “Suddenly tongue-tied, brother?” he asks innocently.

Thexan glares at him. “Honestly, you were missing out. Kissing is _great_.”

Arcann chuckles, definitely amused now. “Hmm, somehow I doubt I was missing out - I was certainly enjoying myself,” he says dryly, humming as Thexan covers his ears for a moment before he continues. “Though, I will concede that kissing is also good.”

And he’s back to thinking about how soft Calli’s lips were when she kissed him. Superb.

Thexan is still somewhat red when he looks back at him. “Your voice goes soft when you talk about her though,” he says quickly. “And maybe... maybe she wasn’t as unaffected as you thought.”

It’s a little unnerving how Thexan knew what he was thinking about. “That’s a sudden conversation change,” he answers mildly, trying to cover his rapidly beating heart. Does Thexan have some insight he is not privy to? “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Thexan clucks his tongue and the noise is unusual enough to make him turn his head in surprise. “Oh sure, because you didn’t picture a certain someone straight away. And besides, we were _just_ talking about Calli! You’re not that mysterious.”

“Hrmph.”

Thexan sighs. “She’s different around you too - even when she’s upset, she’s not cruel. I don’t think you’re right about her, that she doesn’t care.”

His heart thumps again. “When do you get so good at reading strangers?” he snaps in response.

Thexan glares at him. “When I spent my time as a Republic prisoner of war and had to learn to watch people fast to figure out if they were going to try to hurt me or Ona’la,” he replies, voice even but clearly starting to hit the edges of his temper. “Father may have stopped us learning how to be members of society with actual friends, but you learn pretty quickly when you are away from him. Nobody wanted to talk to me, so I had to learn what they wanted in other ways.”

He grunts. “Sorry,” he says quietly, hesitating for a moment before offering his forearm in their old gesture of asking for support. He does not feel a lump in his throat when Thexan clasps his arm with no hesitation and squeezes, giving him a small smile as though he knows exactly what he’s thinking.

Gods he missed him. One more step to repairing their bond to what it once was. Or, no, making a new one. They are older people now, wiser, less reliant on each other and each other alone. They don’t desperately need each other as much anymore, they are allowed to be their own person. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel better just having him around.

Despite his annoying truths, of course.

Thexan hums, clearly pleased, and resumes looking out at the sunset while Arcann folds his arms on the railing and rests his chin on them again. “You might be right,” he says quietly. “She kissed me, on Nar Shaddaa.”

He smirks to himself as he feels the way Thexan’s jaw metaphorically drops, his twin’s excitement levels rising rapidly enough that it’s suddenly obvious where Anya gets it from (if Anya’s power were in short bursts rather than... _constant_ ). “ _What_?”

Arcann shakes his head. “Calm down. It was because I saved her life. And then Lieca walked in and she bolted. Without even a glance back, just like before.”

“Did you want her to?”

The smugness he can feel radiating from Thexan is completely unwarranted, and he refuses to acknowledge it. “Does it matter?” he says quietly, more gloomy than he was expecting. “Too much has happened. I’ve done too many things. You only have to listen to anyone nearby for five minutes to hear how unfit I am to even be here, let alone near any of the high-ranking Alliance members.”

Thexan’s smugness quickly fades, and the feeling of support that rushes after it is welcome - though if he concentrates for a moment, some of it even feels like Lieca in that general awareness he has of her now, and he hides a smile. “Arcann, don’t worry so much about other people. Worry about _these_ people, about Lieca and her family and close friends, and what you can do to try to help them. Nobody expects you to just magically make restitutions for everything today. We just have to keep trying.”

Arcann snorts. “Easier said than done.”

Thexan nods. “True. But also, consider - you’re making Mother proud, and annoying Father at the same time. Truly admirable goals!”

He does smile at that, and Thexan seems pleased. “Excellent. Then, if you are finished moping-”

“I am not _moping_ -”

Thexan claps his shoulder, and he tries not to flinch at the unexpected casual touch that’s clearly meant as a bonding gesture. “Let’s go get some dinner, and then a drink - I believe everyone should be in the cantina right now.”

Arcann raises his good eyebrow at him and Thexan frowns. “Don’t be like that. With everyone there, people won’t have a chance to start anything. You’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He sighs.

 

* * *

 

Arcann scowls at Thexan as he follows him up to the cantina, pulling faces at his back.

He does not want to be here. Nobody else wants him to be here. It’s crowded and there’s too much noise and it’s just awful. His only consolation is that Thexan probably hates it just as much as he does, except Thexan has far less furious glares to worry about. He understands why people hate him, but sometimes he doesn’t want to have to deal with it every second of the day, alright?

They both wince as the doors open, and Arcann’s head is pounding almost immediately after. Why are they even here, damnit?

Thexan gives him a briefly apologetic look and drags him inside, hand firm on his sleeve. To his surprise, few people even seem to notice him, and if they do, they don’t say anything.

Thexan suddenly stops in the doorway to the next room and starts laughing. Arcann raises an eyebrow and steps up next to him to try to figure out what he’s looking at through the dim lighting and crowded dance floor, and his heart _stops_.

Calli is standing at the brightly lit bar, chatting to people he doesn’t recognise and doesn’t really care about, and she’s wearing some ridiculously short lacy green dress. And then she turns slightly as she laughs, and he realises it’s _backless_ too and his mouth runs dry.

Is... is she doing this to tempt him deliberately? _Gods above_ , she has to know what that type of dress means between the two of them. She has to know what it means to _him_ , to see her dressed like that again, giggling with her friends with her hair pinned up and showing her neck. The soft, pale skin of her back makes his fingers itch to trace the gentle lines of muscle there, to make her shudder and gasp at his touch again. But he instead curses vilely when one of her friends steps closer to her, a large green hand sliding around her waist to direct her closer to the bar.

He recognises the Mirialan in the long duster coat as her friend Geralt, but it doesn’t really stop his urge to break the man’s fingers for touching her the way he wants to.

As though he had any right to want to touch her. She has made it clear how little regard she has for him. But the way she kissed him on Nar Shaddaa… _gods_ , he wants that again _so badly_. Wants to unleash the passion she feels, wants to be the focus of her attention. He’s thought about that kiss way more than he should, the memory sparking far brighter than his older memories of how fantastic she felt in his arms, in his bed.

If... if she truly hated him, she... she wouldn't have kissed him like that. She _wouldn't_. She couldn't possibly be that cruel, to dangle his hopes before him and then snatch them away. She is angry, gods she is _so angry_ , and he understands the many reasons she has to hate him. But she isn't deliberately cruel. He hopes he doesn't change her basic nature that much.

He realises abruptly that Geralt has noticed him staring, as the other man is looking directly at him as he leans forward to murmur something in her ear. His stance is friendly, not possessive, even with his hand remaining on her back, and it still makes Arcann look away for a moment. It speaks of how comfortable they are around each other, another intimacy he is not allowed.

He looks back and blinks rapidly in surprise as he notices that Calli has disappeared from the bar. Geralt is already turning back to the woman on his other side, his posture immediately far more inviting, and Arcann scowls and looks away again.

... only to jump as Calli suddenly appears in front of him, cheeks flushed and eyes clearly sparkling with alcohol despite the rather low lighting of the room away from the bar, and he realises Thexan had abandoned him at some point while he had been staring. She is frowning at him, and he has to strain his implant to be able to hear her over the music. “What are you doing here?”

He scowls, immediately feeling off kilter. “The same as everyone else,” he says, even though it’s sort of a lie. Even though it’s definitely a lie, given that Thexan has apparently abandoned him, and he has no one else to share a drink with.

She raises her eyebrow, stepping closer for a moment as the crowd pushes her from behind. “Haha, very funny. Except you're not drinking or dancing!”

He notices she’s carrying a glass of what previous experience would tell him is whiskey, clearly hers for sometime judging by the smudges of her bright lipstick along the rim. “Are you telling me they’d even serve me?” he says pointedly, gesturing at the bar. “They're more likely to poison it.”

She looks more annoyed, and he notices she’s a little flustered too, as if his comment had hit a nerve. “Well maybe if you weren't a giant dick they wouldn't poison your drink,” she said, pushing an errant lock of her hair out of her face.

He frowns, bruised pride speaking before he can think to stop it. “ _You_ seemed appreciative,” he snaps.

Her eyes widen, still glittering in the low lighting, and he realises from her expression that she’s blushing. “ _What_?” she splutters, her voice a little higher pitched than a moment ago. “Who told you that!”

He blinks at her in surprise, but she doesn't seem to notice, immediately scowling into her glass as if she can’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “I bet it was Geralt, he talks too much,” she says angrily. “But I didn’t tell him, he got too grumpy at me, fuck…”

“I... I figured that out on my own, thank you,” he interrupts politely, trying not to think about how peculiarly delightful he finds her cussing; it’s refreshing, the way she talks to him like a normal person, without any regard for his previous rank or power. “Or rather, you told me.” Well, she didn’t _tell_ him, not in so many words, but the way she wailed his name in his arms was a pretty strong indicator. He’s pretty sure she wasn’t faking that.

She stares at him, looking confused. “What? No I didn’t! That would be stupid! I’m not stupid, you are!”

... okay. “Callistra, are you drunk?”

She actually rolls her eyes at him. “Oh my god Arcann, stop being such a drama queen,” she says with a pout. “I’m not drink, but the drunks are good.”

“Very convincing.”

She glares at him. “Well, maybe if you tried the drinks instead of being Mr Fussy Boots and judging other people for having fun. Just because it’s not your fancy Zakuulan stuff!”

He sighs. “I told you already, your bartenders will not serve me. Or they’ll poison my drink. Neither is preferable.”

“Fuck, you’re such a snob,” she sniffs disdainfully. “Just find a drink that isn’t poisoned.”

He raises an eyebrow as she lifts her glass to her mouth. “I’ll... get started on that soon?” he says, unsure of how else to answer that.

He realises he’s standing way too close to her, mostly to ensure he can hear her over the music, but she doesn’t seem at all affected or annoyed by his proximity, and he’s not going to draw attention to it. He likes being in her space, that physical reminder that maybe she doesn’t completely despise him. She’s so physically affectionate with all of her friends - the distance she insists on maintaining from him hurts, even if he knows he deserves worse.

She nods. “Good! The whiskey is nice. Zakuul didn’t have whiskey, it sucked. Bowie always found some for me though. He’s good like that.”

He looks down at her drink. “You did live in a bar.”

She glares at him. “That sounds like it’s mean,” she says suspiciously. “Not a lot of other options when I have to spend years on your stupid planet to save my sister!”

... perhaps not the best conversation choice. “I... see,” he says awkwardly, at a loss as to what else to say. He gestures to her glass. “At least you have whiskey again.”

She’s still glaring at him. “You don’t believe me, do you? Have you even ever had whiskey?”

He scowls back, feeling more and more off balance the longer this conversation goes on. “Of course I have,” he says, wishing desperately that Thexan - _that traitor_ \- would come back and rescue him from this slow and mortifying social death. “I am not some sort of uncultured swine.”

She sniffs haughtily. “I think it’s uncultured if you just steal their stuff, though,” she mutters, and he can barely hear her over the music even with their heads so close. “This is my favourite whiskey here. Not the good stuff, but close enough.”

She actually gestures with the drink, bumping it against his chest, and he wishes the mere suggestion of her touch didn’t make him jump - and of course she notices instantly. She tilts her head at him, her face far too close to his for comfort. “Are you scared of the wittle whiskey?”

He can feel his cheeks burning, and he’s glad for the poor lighting in here; he reaches up to rub his chest where she had touched him. “No. Of course not.”

Her expression is sly. “It’s not gonna bite you,” she says in a sing-song voice.

He frowns at the glass. “If it’s poisoned, it might.”

She rolls her eyes again. “It’s obviously not, you tool. Else I wouldn’t drink it. I have _some_ taste.”

He reaches out his hand before he can think, wrapping it around her glass and over her fingers. She squeaks as he touches her, and the glass would have fallen if not for his grip on it. “Good,” he says, leaning in closer. “Then I can taste this one.”

He really hopes he hasn’t misstepped here. He’s seen her friends tease each other like this before, seen Geralt steal her drinks. It’s... hopefully the same. Right?

She doesn’t stop him from raising _her_ glass to his mouth, still staring at him with wide eyes before he takes a drink.

And then the whiskey fucking burns on the way down his throat and he starts coughing. But he forgets the bad taste immediately as Calli starts laughing. Even if it’s at him, not with him, it’s still partially his doing, and his heart starts pounding in his chest. Gods above, her laugh is beautiful.

She giggles louder at the disgusted face he pulls, taking the glass back and placing it on the tray of a passing waitress with some sort of practiced ease. “You should have seen your face!” she laughs.

“You actually drink that? Voluntarily?”

She lifts her nose in the air. “Some of us have good taste,” she says haughtily, before giggling again. She takes him by surprise by reaching up and running her thumb along his chin, and for a moment he can’t even breathe. When she draws her hand back and lifts her fingers up to her mouth, sucking on them briefly, he’s not even sure he’s not dead and in some sort of bizarre and blessed afterlife. “Can’t let it go to waste,” she says by way of explanation, once she takes her fingers from her mouth.

Gods help him, she’s going to kill him. “That’s disgusting,” he says hoarsely.

She actually pokes her tongue out at him, and he stares at her. “You’re just being weird, Arcann,” she huffs. “Though it’s not the best one. Just my favourite that we have here. Geralt needs to pass his suppliers onto Hylo.”

She suddenly taps her chin, looking at him curiously. “I bet you’re a red wine man, aren’t ya? Seems like that would suit you.”

Intensely grateful for the change of topic, he raises his good eyebrow, not entirely sure if she means that as a compliment or an insult. “I like sweet wines,” he admits gruffly. “Alderaanian icewine was my favourite.”

She chuckles, but there’s something strange in her eyes. “Typical rich boy,” she snickers, though her heart doesn’t seem in it anymore, and he wonders how he misstepped.

He frowns, not sure what else to do besides continue digging himself into this mess of a conversation. “I have not had any for some time now, though. I missed this year’s harvest.”

There’s definitely something angry in her expression now, no trace of the laughter that was there before. “Yeah, because _I_ destroyed your Star Fortress. So you couldn’t get your _precious sweets_ anymore.”

He stares at her. “What?” he says, unsure whether he’s impressed or horrified. He should be angry, but if anything - the thought that Calli could have been caught and executed by one of his Exarchs without him even being any the wiser made his gut churn. “That was you?”

She reaches up to rub her neck, seemingly unconsciously. “Yeah? Of course it was me. Nobody else was dumb enough to try.”

That rouses a strange sense of frustration in him, hearing her demean herself so easily. “Callistra, you’re not dumb.”

She waves him off, clearly entirely unconvinced. “Yeah I was. I got caught. Your skytroopers stuck me in a cell with a shock collar on my neck. It fucking hurt. Geralt came to save me though, he’s good like that. He was really worried about me.”

His fists clench at his sides at the thought of her in pain like that, and he closes his eyes in regret. “I… I am sorry you were hurt,” he says quietly.

She scoffs, shoved into him for a moment as the crowd moves again. She leaps back before he can even move, looking suddenly unsettled. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’m fine. Your stupid icewine is fine.”

“I don’t really care about the icewine.”

She gives him a weird look. “‘Cause you can’t have it anymore? Such a shame, Emperor.”

He flinches at the deliberate use of his former title. “I stopped drinking it before you took the Star Fortress.”

“Why?”

He looks down for a moment. Chooses honesty. Steels himself. “It... reminded me of you.”

He can almost hear her frowning, and when he looks back up, the look of bewilderment and suspicion on her face would almost be comical if he wasn’t stressed about her answer. “What?” she says, clearly confused. “Don’t be fooled by the Amell name, it’s not mine. It’s my... third? Cousin’s vineyard. I think. What’s my great-grandfather’s brother’s daughter’s nephew’s kid called again? Pretentious twat, that’s what he is. He’s lucky I only destroyed one harvest.”

He blinks, utterly mystified as to the rapid change in direction her thoughts. “What?”

She leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief... and probably the alcohol in her system. He tries and fails not to glance down at her mouth as she sways close enough for him to feel her breath against his neck. “My uncle took me there when I was eleven,” she says, the pounding thud of the bass-heavy music reverberating through him like a second pulse. It’s hot in here, and he can see a faint sheen on her skin, as if she’s been dancing. It makes her look vibrant. “The owner’s dumb kid pulled my hair, and he didn’t do anything or even tell him off! So I sliced the computer to put more water in the mixture, because fuck them. It all tasted terrible.”

She then leans even closer, her eyes definitely sparkling as her voice drops lower, her tone almost secretive. “They never figured out it was me.”

Is it weird that he feels bizarrely proud of her for that? “That’s... impressive.”

She immediately scowls, drawing back a few inches, breaking the magic intimacy of the moment. “Don’t sound so huffy about it,” she says crossly. “You did far worse and I only took some of your money. That was stupid.” She blinks and looks at her hand, as if only just realising it’s empty. “And you just took my drink too! _Ugh_. Should’ve taken more.”

And there’s a derisive comment directed at herself again. He swallows. “You’re not stupid, Calli.”

She scoffs, blowing hair off her forehead. “Whatever. Everyone thinks so. Silly little Calli, just making things more difficult for everyone.”

How... how can she not see that everyone adores her? Her friends, her family... they all love her, so much. It’s obvious to him, how can she miss it? “Calli, you don’t believe that.”

She whirls on him, jabbing her finger into his chest, apparently off-center the first time as she does it twice and he grunts at the pressure. “Don’t tell me what to do!” she says hotly. “You don’t know them, you don’t see how it’s my fault. And don’t ask! _Ugh_ , I’m not drunk enough for this, gimme more whiskey.”

“Callistra, I am not the bartender.”

“I know that! Fuck you’re dumb.”

He’s just about ready to give up - he’d be ready to chalk it all up to drunken foolishness, if he hadn’t heard her make the same sort of dismissive comments about herself regularly. The alcohol just seems to have made her louder about it, if anything. She’s one of the wittiest, most vivacious women he’s ever met in his life, clearly beloved by everyone who comes into contact with her, the sort of charmed life that he would have killed for when he was a boy. He wants to shake her, but he’s embarrassed and frustrated by her insults and at a loss as to how to say anything she’d consider worth listening to. He can take them from everyone else in this stupid place, but somehow when they are from her they hurt more. “Calli... damnit! You are not a burden! Not to anyone, least of all me.”

She’s staring at him again, and he can’t quite read her expression. Is she mad at him? How could she think that about herself?

But all thought stops entirely when she reaches out to grab his shirt and pull him closer to kiss him hard.


	35. Aftermath II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: NSFW content ahead, do not read at work unless that's your cup of tea ;P

Later, she’ll protest that it was definitely the combination of that amazing whiskey and her stupid hormones. It had nothing to do with the growl in his voice or the way his eyes looked in the dim lighting of the cantina as he stared at her. Or the way he so easily defended her worth.

But right now, Calli can’t quite stop herself from cutting him off by stepping forward and tangling one hand in his shirt to pull him closer, mouth meeting his in a heated kiss.

She realises about a second later what she’s actually done and lets out a soft squeak of surprise against him, which Arcann swallows with a groan as he starts to kiss her back. _Fuck_ , she forgot how _good_ he is at kissing.

She lets go of his shirt instantly, planning to step back and away from her _horrible_ decision-making, but he steps closer first and winds his arms around her waist, kissing her hungrily.

_Fuck_.

Instead of pushing him back, she finds her traitorous arms looping around his neck, pressing close enough to discover just how invested he is in this particular series of passionate kisses, and she almost whines at the feel of his fingers sliding over the exposed skin of her back. She can literally feel his lips sliding into a smirk at her gasp and - feeling briefly annoyed at his smug reaction -, she shifts her mouth enough to bite his lip and flick her hips against his, slipping one hand down his chest and across his stomach.

His answering groan is low in his throat, and he actually breaks their kiss for a brief second, his wide blue eyes almost glowing in the low lighting as he stares at her, way too close and way too intense. She briefly thinks she’s won before he kisses her harder and she feels his hands slide down to briefly tease along the bottom of her dress.

She squeaks again as the song changes and she remembers they’re still in the middle of the fucking cantina. She has a brief moment to beg her lucky stars that nobody actually saw them - or if they did, nobody drew attention to them - before he shifts to tug her closer and moves his mouth to her neck, apparently unconcerned with any public attention. It’s not a giant turn-on, not at all, nope.

_Double fuck._

The noise she lets out is probably uncomfortably loud, but she annoyingly can’t help herself. She feels him smirk again as he nips her neck and she gasps, shifting her hips restlessly.

A tiny bit of common sense slips past the drunken lustful haze and she uses that brief moment of clarity to almost jump back, nervously licking her lips at the heated look in his eyes while his fingers slip back to her sides at her movement.

She’s not entirely certain what she wants, but she certainly doesn’t want to fuck Arcann in the cantina where everyone could see.

She absolutely does not press her legs together at the thought.

_Fuck_ she’s glad it’s dark in here.

Even in the low lighting she can tell his cheeks are flushed and she doesn’t even want to consider how red she is.

She licks her lips again and he’s not at all subtle in following the movement with his eyes, his fingers tightening on her hips.

“Callistra,” he murmurs, voice way too low to be fair even with the music and she decides fuck it and surges forward to kiss him again, almost throwing him off balance judging by his startled grunt. The whiskey and the ache between her legs absolutely agree with this plan.

She’s not quite sure exactly how it happens, but the next thing she knows is that she’s using her hands at his collar to pull Arcann into the hallway full of private guest rooms at the back of the cantina. Her kisses might be getting a little more desperate than she prefers, but judging from his wandering hands and soft sounds as he follows her, she figures he doesn’t really care.

It’s probably just been awhile for him too and he’s just going along with whoever wants to have sex with him. She’s not stupid enough to think again that he wants her - it’s because she’s available, not because it's _her_. Whiskey says so.

She keeps thinking that even as she drags him into the first available room, and he groans and spins her to push her against the wall next to the door, his hand slamming against the doorpad to lock it behind them. His mouth is instantly at her throat again, aggressively pressing his thigh between hers.

Fuck, she hopes this room doesn’t belong to someone. She hopes they aren’t in the refresher and about to walk out to the two of them grinding against one another next to their suitcase. She hopes they aren’t going to go and fetch someone in maintenance to fix the lock, walking in on them.

Who cares - that’s Tomorrow Calli’s problem.

She moans loudly in his ear and he chuckles against her pulse point, his tongue flicking out purely to tease her. His tongue is way too talented for its own good, she considers, flushing darker at the memory of just how clever his tongue can be. No-one can ever know just how often she remembers his tongue, and she’s certainly never going to tell him.

Arcann suddenly pulls back a little, and she almost preens at the look in his eyes as he watches her. “Callistra, do you really want this?” he asks hoarsely. “Or is this just the alcohol talking?”

She’s a little annoyed that he stopped with the kissing just to be sensible, but also touched that he thought to ask. And annoyed again that he’s trying to make her say it when the entire point of this is to _not_ think about it and- “Alcohol doesn’t kiss the way I do,” she says, a little more breathlessly than she hoped. “You can talk to that instead if you want though.”

He growls, mouth moving back to her neck. “Not a chance,” he mutters, and the flash of his teeth makes her squirm. He braces both of his hands on the wall either side of them, but as she involuntarily sighs his name and runs her fingers over his hair (it really is as fuzzy as it looks, _nice_ ) he grunts and slides his hand down her body to both squeeze her ass and pull her flush against him.

A vague thought pushes past the whiskey, and she gasps, arching up a little. “What about you then, huh? Is this what you really want?”

She tells herself the way her voice seems small is only in her head, because she’s not at all worried about this and he’s definitely going to say no anyway, and she’s just being an idiot and-

He cuts her off with a near-bruising kiss, his mouth on hers instantly while he moves his hand behind her thigh, shifting enough to lift her leg to wrap around his hip. “ _Gods yes_ ,” he rasps. “Callistra-”

There’s something in his eyes as he looks at her that’s absolutely fucking terrifying, and she moves her hand behind his head to pull him closer to kiss him again, rather than let him say anything else dangerous. She might be a little drunk, but not drunk enough for any sort of _conversation_ about this. It’s just her and him. Nothing else.

Plus, he’s a _really_ good kisser. It’s incredibly distracting.

And of course, he chooses to take that moment to start deliberately rolling his hips against hers, apparently not at all perturbed at how easily she tries to stop him speaking.

“Asshole,” she gasps, mouth breaking away from his to breathe while her fingers absolutely do not dig into his shoulder to pull him even closer - it’s totally just for balance. Or something. Woah, head rush.

He chuckles, the sound low and way too hot, and smirks. “You say that as though you are not enjoying this immensely,” he taunts, and she really did not need a return of smug superior Arcann. Or maybe she did. He might be what she thinks about all the time, after all.

Whoops. Good thing she didn’t say that out loud. That might be awkward. And at this point he can probably tell exactly how much she is enjoying this anyway, even through their clothes. But there’s a vague hint of his statement being maybe open-ended, and she wonders if he’s worried she’s not enjoying it. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” she retorts. “Prove it.”

That smirk on his face should be _absolutely illegal_ even when she’s sober, let alone with her head spinning from his kisses (she could try and say it was the drink, but honestly she wasn’t even close to her limit and _shut up brain you weren’t asked_!). “I intend to,” he growls.

Easier to kiss him again, stop him from thinking about it entirely. Or something. Less thoughts, more kisses. She’s definitely not panting every time he moves his mouth back a little, nope, not her.

She might be a little thrilled by how easily he can move her around and near-effortlessly support her weight when he grunts and shifts to lift her other leg to wrap around his hip too, pressing her closer into the wall while he braces himself on his robotic arm and kisses her hard. And there’s the feel of his fingers teasing along the bottom of her dress again, which due to their new position is barely covering her at all anymore.

_Fuck it. Just enjoy this._

Deciding to make the most of this before her common sense kicks back in (plus he _did_ say he wanted her), Calli grins delightedly and immediately arches up, using her legs locked behind his hips for purchase as she starts grinding against him, which judging by the choked-off noise he makes he is more than fond of.

He shifts his robotic arm to her hip to take her weight, and she eventually takes the hint to tighten her arms around his neck to support herself as his other hand slips between her legs; she shivers delightedly at the feel of his fingers skating along her inner thigh on the way down. Memory clashes with reality and _oh boy_ that’s a bit of a rush. At least it’s not his tongue, she really might collapse then, and that’d be fucking awkward.

Surprisingly, he moans almost as loudly as she does when he brushes past her underwear, and when she can breathe again she asks about it between increasingly desperate kisses. “Like what you’ve found?” she asks, shuddering at each stroke of his fingers and pretty sure it’s not just the alcohol that has her nearly seeing stars.

Well. Unexpected.

His breathing is shallow and his colour is high, and she briefly wonders just how many cues she’d previously missed when he blindfolded her. “You have no idea,” he mutters hoarsely, before clearly trying to collect himself and moving his mouth to her ear. “I like how wet you get for me.”

She moans despite her best efforts, usually more than capable of one-upping any absolutely thrilling dirty talk, but he cuts off her retort with a bruising kiss instead, his fingers rubbing against her in the exact way she likes and that is so _not fair_. How the fuck does he even _know_ , this is ridiculous. They only had sex once okay, there’s no way he could’ve figured it out this fast! And she definitely had a retort planned. Definitely. It was going to be cutting and sexy and it was going to utterly wreck him, and-

Oh, who was she kidding.

She digs her nails into his shoulders, slightly annoyed he’s still fully dressed while she’s turning into a complete wreck in his arms. Just because her dress was short enough that he didn’t have to worry about it. It was still rude and not fair and _holy fucking gods above_ -

“ _Arcann_ ,” she gasps and he chuckles, voice barely sounding strained this time.

“Yes, Callistra?”

Oh, he plays _dirty_ and she does not like it one bit. At all. Her body is just lying. “ _Please_.”

He grins, shifting his thumb enough to almost make her want to scream. “If you want something, you have to ask for it-”

“Shut _up_ and _fuck me_ you asshole.”

Arcann groans low in his throat at her words, slipping his hand away from her (to which she absolutely does not gasp and immediately miss his fingers) to slide both hands under her thighs and hitch her higher up his body, leaving him space to reach under her to fumble with his pants. She immediately closes her mouth over his earlobe to distract him, feeling rather gleeful at his choked noise. Part of it might be petulance because his fingers felt so fucking good, but it's also definitely delight at sidetracking him so easily. Calli: one, Arcann: hmm. Too many to count, _unfair_.

She continues scattering kisses over his face and neck, lingering against the apparently slightly more sensitive scar tissue just to hear him shudder and growl in frustration as he fumbles with his clothes.

Sure, she wanted a helluva lot more but this is also pretty fun. Maybe she does have a few things to show the gigolo Emperor, and the sudden thought makes her giggle almost hysterically, directly into his ear.

He finally gives up fighting with his pants, shifting his hand back up to pull her head away from his throat and cover her mouth with his hand in annoyance. “You are being a menace,” he grumbles. “For a woman literally begging to be fucked, you- _Calli_.”

She grins at him, swirling her tongue around the fingers she just drew into her mouth while her nails scratch down the back of his neck. She’s tipsy, not blind, she saw the way he got all hot and bothered when she sucked on her fingers earlier.

Hey, there’s an idea.

“ _Scyva_ ,” he groans, watching her wide-eyed for a few long moments before surging forward to kiss her hungrily, his real hand moving to balance against the wall as his mechanical hand deals with his pants and then shifts her back down his body.

Huh. Driving him crazy is particularly fun, and if she wasn't so insanely turned on right now she would explore this more. This is _way_ more fun.

Further thought on the subject is stopped as he moves his hips forward to grind against hers and _oh_ , it's _so much better_ with only her underwear in the way this time. And even that barrier is quickly moved aside, Calli shuddering again as this time his cool metallic fingers skate along her inner thigh. It’s surprisingly not as weird as she thought, thankfully - wouldn’t want to ruin the moment here.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he murmurs breathlessly against her.

She recognises his attempt to regain control, but his cock is rubbing against her at just the right angle and she really doesn't give a fuck as long as he doesn't stop. She’ll fight him about that later.

Later? Who said there’ll be a later?

She whines, digging her fingers into his back and tightening her thighs around his hips. “Arcann,” she moans desperately. She’s not close, but she’s so close to _being_ close and that doesn’t make sense but she just wants him too much to think clearly.

He grins, moving his mouth down to kiss her neck briefly. “Finished playing now, or would you like to tease some more?” he murmurs.

She shoots him a wrathful glare and he laughs, and she blames the slightly adjusted angle of his cock and the alcohol spinning in her head for the way her heart jumps at the sound. “Maybe I just wanted kisses,” she says grumpily.

Arcann raises an eyebrow at her, shifting his grip on her hip. “Oh really?” he drawls, though she sees the brief panic across his features. Is he really that worried that maybe she doesn’t want this? Obviously she does - she all but climbed on him after all - but there’s something... sweet at how he keeps checking anyway. “I find that hard to believe. You seem rather... _invested_ for someone so supposedly uninterested.”

But he does stop, looking like he’s waiting for her, and she could just about kill him in this moment. “Are you just going to be a brat about the fact I’m so turned on I can’t think straight?” she whines, trying to pull him closer to chase the friction she desperately needs.

His expression quickly relaxes and shifts into sly delight, and he rewards her words with another slide of his cock against her, masterfully hiding his own reaction if he even had one. “Do I truly arouse you so much?” he replies, ridiculously smug now that he seems assured, and _oh boy_ she is _so angry_ at him. One of these days she’ll get him. Somehow.

She scowls even as she shifts her hips restlessly. “ _Fuck you_.”

He tsks, stopping the movement of his hips and leaving her nearly sobbing before she bites her lip to stop herself. “You’ll have to be more specific, Calli. Are you just taking the time to swear at me again, or is this something else?”

She glares at him and he smirks. Confident smug Arcann should be _illegal. So illegal_. “Ah, it is something else. Is it perhaps a request? Are you begging me to fuck you up against this wall right now?”

“ _Arcann_.”

His smirk widens. He does seem to like it when she says his name. Note to self. “If you want me Calli, you have to say so,” he says tauntingly, shifting to kiss her neck. “I want to hear it again.”

She glares harder, but she can feel her resolve slipping because he’s so bloody close, and he feels so good, and as much as tries to forget she still remembers exactly how fucking amazing it felt to fall apart in his arms.

He draws back to look at her, his eyes almost shining in the low light and that piercing blue is her undoing.

She wets her lips, drawing his gaze for a brief moment. “Arcann.”

“Yes, Callistra?”

_Fuck_. She takes a deep breath, the whiskey almost making her head spin again. “Please fuck me up against this wall until I scream.”

She actually sees his pupils dilate as she says it, and a slow smile forms on his face. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

She cries out as he finally shifts his hips to thrust hard into her, moaning his name loudly as her body adjusts around him.

It doesn't take long at all for them to establish a rhythm, Arcann gleefully making long slow rolls of his hips into her which feels absolutely fucking amazing and leaves her whimpering against him as he kisses her hard.

She’s not even aware how much time passes before his mouth finally drifts to her neck for a long moment (oh she’ll have a mark there for sure, judging by the pressure of his teeth) and he smirks as he watches her. “You know, I never should have blindfolded you. Watching your eyes as I take you is the best part about this,” he taunts, voice definitely way too low to be legal and punctuating his statement with a slow roll of his hips every few words.

She has a reply, she really does, but he changes his angle and her head falls back with a gasp before his fingers dig into her hips.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he growls, and she whimpers, trying to focus on him.

“I’m not, I’m not,” she gasps, clutching hard at his back.

His own breathing is starting to get almost as ragged as hers and he starts to move his hips faster, his eyes glazing over slightly as she watches him. She loses track of time for a bit, lust and alcohol fogging up her brain as he starts to move faster and harder inside her and she groans against him.

Her orgasm, when it comes, still manages to surprise her and she practically wails his name, nails trying to dig into his shoulders through his clothes and hips bucking against him frantically. Which, despite her completely throwing off his rhythm, is apparently enough for him too and he groans loudly as he follows her, his entire body shuddering against her.

_Holy fucking stars._

She was about to make some awkward drowsy comment about the fact he’s still inside her, but he kisses her softly before she can and she’s nearly speechless.

She gasps into his mouth, body still shivering in the little aftershocks, and judging from his own soft noises he is more than appreciative. He starts nuzzling her mouth, and she feels him smirk at the part gasp, part whine she accidentally lets out when he slowly slides out of her.

“Calli,” he murmurs, hands sliding down to gently readjust her position on his hips, presumably to make it more comfortable for him. His hands linger on her sides afterwards, as though he doesn't want to stop touching her.

She swallows. “What?” she responds, far more weakly than she intended. He’s a really really good fuck okay, sometimes a girl just needs a moment. Or three. Or a million. How long is that again? She is at least a little mollified that his breathing is still not quite under control either.

“Aren't you glad you asked nicely?” he asks, a slow smile forming on his face, digging his fingers into her sides.

She blinks at him drowsily for a moment before it registers, and she feels like her cheeks are going to explode or something from the force of her blush. “Hey! I don't see you complaining,” she says quickly.

He laughs and her heart lurches even as he leans forward to press his forehead against hers. “Never,” he declares softly.

She tries to tell her legs to unwrap from around his hips and get off him but her body doesn't seem to want to obey her. In fact her arms wind around his neck loosely again, holding him close. She rationalises it as that she's still a little drunk, she is very tired, she just had a mind-blowing orgasm and, well, he's not trying to move either.

_Fuck he’s good._

Just as her legs start to make little protests about how tightly they were clamped around his hips for so long, Arcann sighs and pushes off the wall before gently releasing her to stand, annoyingly rather shakily, on her own legs again. She’s mostly impressed her legs don’t collapse under her.

Oh, she’s going to be riding this high for _weeks_.

He seems somehow both a little smug and a little bashful at her reaction, and just before she can collect her thoughts enough to address the almost awkward moment, he raises his hand and a towel from the stack on the desk on the other side of the room suddenly appears in it.

Okay, that’s kind of hot, he didn’t even look at it. Bloody Force users.

He then offers it to her before taking a half-step back and politely looking away, moving to rearrange his own clothing to cover himself again, another towel in his hand again. So, looks like he’s giving her a moment to clean herself up and straighten her dress and that’s... surprisingly decent of him, actually?

When she’s finished with the towel she tosses it aside without a care in the world, resolving to throw out her underwear tomorrow. Right now she’s too tired to think about it, and she awkwardly tries to shift her weight to one leg to lift the other up enough to unbuckle her heels. Sure she’s tired, but not too tired to keep the instruments of _death_ on for a moment longer.

She steadies herself on the wall after a helpless moment before suddenly feeling Arcann’s presence behind her. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly, and he’s almost close enough that she briefly imagines she can hear his voice rumbling in his chest.

Oh good, orgasms still speed up the silly stage. Take that whiskey, didn’t need you after all!

She huffs, pretending to be unaffected. “Shoes hurt,” she whines. “I can’t- _eek_!”

Predictably to just about anyone else, she loses her balance and starts to fall, but she did manage to unbuckle her shoe in the process. Success!

Arcann apparently is less impressed, quickly catching her before she gets too far, and she squeaks again as he presses against her, arm tight around her waist. “At least sit down first,” he hums, sounding amused.

He better not be laughing at her. She shakes herself free to glare at him. “Fine, I will!” she says haughtily, turning her nose up in the air as she limps towards the bed. Partially jelly legs, partially the extreme difference in height. Or something.

Arcann follows along behind her and when she nearly falls again trying to reach her other foot (how? She was even sitting down now!) he sighs and kneels down in front of her, hands on her bare leg almost instantly. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he warns mildly, moving his hands down to take her other heel off. Hey, his hand is really warm.

_Calli you just had sex with him, of course he’s still warm._

She giggles and throws herself backwards on the bed, arms outstretched. “Freedom!” she declares dramatically. She only missed the pillow by a little bit. She huffs and corrects herself, immediately snuggling into it. “Mmm, sleep.”

Arcann seems to huff or laugh or something, but she decides to ignore him. She’s pretty sleepy. “Oh, I should go back to the party, they might need me,” she mumbles, yawning pretty loudly.

He sighs, still sounding a little amused. “It’s alright, Calli, they don’t need you. Go to sleep.”

Something suddenly seems familiar but she’s way too tired to address it. “M’kay…”

She’s almost asleep when she feels him stand up next to her, and she wonders if he’s going to leave, throwing out her hand to try to catch his. “No,” she mutters crossly.

She misses by a wide mark but after a moment (or a minute, or an hour, who even knows) she feels his fingers over hers. “What is it?” he asks.

Grinning, she suddenly tugs, and Arcann overbalances enough to almost fall on top of her with a loud grunt. “Hey!”

She giggles, pushing him off to the other side of the bed. “Just sleep you idiot,” she yawns, snuggling into her pillow again. “It’s too early for this.”

If he has a response, she doesn’t hear it, fast asleep within moments- and anyway, that’s Tomorrow Calli’s problem.

 

* * *

 

It takes awhile for her brain to catch up the next morning, distracted by the Zakuulan battle dancers who have loudly taken up residence in her skull, and when she finally wakes up, it’s with a loud groan, instantly moving her hands over her eyes as though to irrationally push the headache away.

Oh, fuck that _hurts_. Ow ow ow ow _ow_.

She suddenly stills as she registers the _other_ parts of her that also ache a bit - if way more pleasantly - and her memory finally decides to politely inform her just what she had done the previous night.

Or rather, _who_.

She sits up instantly, groaning again as her head strongly protests the movement, but oh this is _absolutely_ the time to panic! She can feel her eyes widening under her hands, suddenly extremely aware of the still weight on the other side of the bed and oh no. _Ohhhhhhh noooooooo_.

Gritting her teeth and counting to ten, she finally makes herself turn around to see Arcann lying on his side behind her, his own eyes a little wide and panicked-looking, but otherwise unmoving. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

She wonders if she scared him awake with her carrying-on. “Arcann!”

He’s way too tense, and _oh_ , she really feels terrible now. She looks down to see that her dress is barely covering her at all where she’s sitting and she squeaks and rolls off the bed to stand up. “Gah!”

He flinches, still looking a little panicked, and she takes a deep breath, quickly smoothing her dress down. She can do this. Course it’s been years since she stayed for long enough to have even this much conversation, but it’s fine. It’s totally fine. “Um... good morning?”

Arcann is apparently even less prepared to deal with the morning after than she is, because his expression barely changes, though his breathing does seem to be calming down a bit. Of course, he probably isn’t used to his staff neglecting to throw someone out in the night, and her mood sours significantly at the thought.

_Way to go, Calli, climbing all over the man you swore you’d never get with again. Great job._

Whatever. It was clearly just sex, so even though her timeline of events is a little different to normal, it’s still fine. Maybe not the smartest thing she’s ever done but hey, at least he’s a damn good fuck. And that’s all it was so _technically_ she’s not breaking any of her rules. Certainly didn’t let him get inside her head again, that’s for sure. So, success!

_Right_?

“So, um... you’re... all kinds of fantastic really. That was great. Um, obviously,” she starts lamely, awkwardly gesturing at the wall next to the door. “And um, since you seem pretty freaked out, I’ll just say it’s fine, I know that’s a once-off. I won’t make you deal with anything... else. Shouldn’t have drunk that much. And I should be going. Now. So, um... thank… you?”

Arcann’s brow finally furrows, and she’s a little relieved he seems capable of moving. Probably helps she’s clear across the room now. “You... are welcome,” he says eventually, his voice even more gravelly than normal since he just woke up, and wow that’s kinda unexpectedly hot.

_Focus, Calli._

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, nervously looking around until she spots her shoes, and she ducks down to get them. “Um, great! So, uh, see you... around, I guess?”

So maybe all she can think about now is how it felt to be dragged from his side last time and how much she irrationally fears that again. But it’s fine. She won’t let that happen again, this time it ends on _her_ terms. Everything’s fine. Stop making this weird.

He doesn’t say anything else, clearly just waiting for her to finally fucking leave, and she gives a half-hearted wave before marching over to the door, disengaging the lock, and passing through it.

Wait, was that Sparkles she saw on the desk?

 

* * *

 

Arcann stares at the closed door long after Calli leaves the room, his heart still hammering in his chest and his arm aching so much that he has to repress the urge to try to tear it off.

He hasn’t been woken up by a consort in years, his staff ensuring that anyone who stayed after he fell asleep was long gone before he woke up. The shock of hearing Calli so close while he was still sleeping had activated so many near-dormant fight-or-flight instincts, adrenaline flooding his body to wake up him almost instantly.

But then he had seen the smooth skin of her back, bared by the dress she still wore, and his instincts had utterly failed him. He was always trained to _attack_ any who might have chanced upon him in a moment of such weakness as sleep - but the thought of hurting her was suddenly too unbearable for him to think of such an action. Even instinct failed him in that moment. Paralysed with indecision and the sudden angry spike of pain from his left side, his arm screaming at him for the consequences of lifting Calli the night before when he had not done nearly enough weights training since obtaining the new limb. That had been a mistake.

His head had screamed at him to move as she suddenly sat up and spun around, her eyes wide as she stared at him. But he couldn’t move, even as she mumbled apologies that were entirely unnecessary - he’s not sorry, not at all.

Gods above, she was even better than he remembered, his body still aching pleasantly now. Of course, sleeping in his leather armour was not exactly ideal, especially when his arm feels strained and restricted, but _gods_ she certainly exhausted him. He had been right, it was amazing to see the look on her face at the height, see the way her eyes fluttered with her pleasure.

Perhaps luckily, he’s currently in a bit too much pain to consider the matter further - difficult to feel even the beginnings of arousal when your arm is screaming at you after all - and he eventually groans and drags himself into a sitting position, his left arm all but hanging useless at his side. Even his neck is hurting from the strain, a sure sign he may have pushed himself a little too far.

Maybe he just wanted to feel normal for a change, though. Not the Emperor, not a man crippled by his own stupidity so many years ago. He has no idea what made Calli decide to kiss him the previous night, but he’s so glad that she did. No-one was making her, it was a choice she made. She chose him for herself, and he’s more than a little smug about that fact. He had nothing for her to steal this time, nothing except himself, and she had still eagerly claimed him anyway.

Maybe it had never been entirely about Lieca after all. Calli had seemed rather adorably obtuse about his intentions that first night, back on Zakuul, not seeming to realise why she was in his private quarters until he explicitly agreed to her swearing demand. He had originally thought she might have just been playing coy, or was too cross about the events that had led her there in the first place to be enjoying the moment.

He runs his right hand over his face before rolling his neck, trying to release the tension in his shoulders. Of course, now he suspects Calli’s confusion might have been a confidence issue, after hearing her speak in such a detrimental way about herself time and again. Perhaps it honestly never occurred to her that he would want her? She certainly made no effort into seducing him, which just made her stand out even further from the numerous others at the gala who had attempted to catch his eye.

But this time was _different_. There was no advantage to be gained, other than their time together. He had been somewhat worried that the faint traces of whiskey on her breath (it tastes significantly better from her mouth) influenced her choice, but when she so enthusiastically confirmed her consent? Repeatedly? Something does feel different. And even this morning - she had no obligation to say anything to him, but still took the time to allay his faint concerns before fleeing. Concerns he didn’t even really know he had until she tried to soothe them.

Hmm, come to think of it, what time is it?

He glances at the chronometer on the little bedside table, trying to calculate what time the doctors might be available in the medical labs. There is always someone on the rotation as he understands it, but he has not met any of the night shift staff and doesn’t particularly want to reveal this obvious weakness to a complete stranger.

Cera’s husband might be able to help. The man clearly disliked him, but was professional when it came to solely medical care and explaining the terminology that failed Lieca when she tried to teach something outside of her Force knowledge.

Well, before he does anything else, he probably needs to shower, despite how nice the faint smell of Calli’s perfume is on his skin. And judging from the scattered personal effects around, this room does belong to someone else.

Hmm. Hopefully the housekeeping droid comes through before the owner returns.

It would probably be best to return to his own rooms and the small refresher there to clean up. He can only hope that his arm will cooperate enough to allow him to do so before heading to the medlabs.

It’s still hanging uselessly as he slowly stands up, remembering at the last second he cannot use his left hand as he sways, catching the bedpost with his right hand before falling back down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

He grits his teeth, snarling curses under his breath as he tries to stand again. He really has not missed the phantom limb feelings. They’re always stronger after significant adjustments to the cybernetics, and he definitely does not like them. He knows he should be completing Dia’ayla’s training circuit more often.

Fucking Izax, he should be still laying in bed, smirking as he recalls the memories of last night! Why does Calli insist on being the one to disrupt his routine, of acting completely outside the norm for what he expects after nights of sex?

Perhaps it is not entirely her fault, but she did leave so quickly, and something about that has him feeling grumpier even as he starts to rub his aching shoulder with his right hand.

At least he had no personal effects here so he can just leave. Maybe he will be lucky and not come across anyone he knows on the way.

It should give him time to decide on an explanation as to why his arm is suddenly giving him such grief. Perhaps stoic silence will serve him here.

 

* * *

 

Calli makes it back to her room without further incident, fairly certain that Holiday or someone must have interfered to stop her being spotted by any of her friends or family.

_Ugh_. She does _not_ want to have that conversation with anyone today. Can’t she just have a night of good sex with a handsome man without everyone wanting to _talk_ about it? Admittedly, no-one has said anything yet, but she fucking knows it’s coming. It’s not like they were at all subtle, making out in the middle of the cantina and all like teenagers.

It’s still stupidly hot how unconcerned he was about the public display, _damnit_.

Stomping around her room is far less effective when she’s not wearing her boots, but throwing her heels at the wall has almost the same effect, and she steps into her refresher with smug satisfaction at the display. It keeps her chin high when she catches sight of herself in the mirror, mildly horrified at the face that looks back. _Holy fucking Scyva_ , could it _be_ more obvious that she had sex last night? Her hair is _everywhere_! Not to mention her makeup and... is that a _hickey_? What is she, fif-fucking-teen? Ugh.

She crossly peels out of her dress, hanging it over the railing, and throws her underwear in the wastebasket on the other side of the room before stepping into the refresher.

Okay, maybe mornings aren’t quite so terrible, all hail the magic of hot water. Her thumping headache recedes slightly as she relaxes, and hey - maybe if she stays here forever she will never have to deal with her family’s questions.

But then the water beeps to remind her that she’s got about two minutes before it turns off or she hits the override, and she growls and blows the wet hair off her forehead instead. Fine, she’ll get out. She does need to eat, as tempting as it is to stay here forever.

She wraps her towel around herself once she’s dried off, leaning over the cabinet to look at her neck more closely. Damnit, that’s definitely too obvious for her to leave alone. She would normally not worry about makeup when she has no specific plans for the day - but that really needs to be covered up.

She’s already blushing at the reminder of how good his mouth felt on her neck while he drove into her again and again, she doesn’t need anyone else to draw attention to it and make her remember again.

Fucking bastard, how dare he be so good at sex. It’s _unfair_.

Eventually she rolls her shoulders back and resolves to not think about him, quickly brushing her hair before stepping back into the main room to get dressed. She should have a few high-collar shirts around somewhere... ah! There!

Bright green sleeveless turtleneck, that should do it. Comfortable, covers her neck, and shows off her arms. Her boxing training gives her great arms, she should wear shirts that show them off more often. And then long pants and her favourite boots to finish it all off.

But once she adds giant dangling earrings, that leaves her out of excuses to keep hiding in her room, and she _really_ should go find some food. As much as she dreads the prospect at the same time.

Maybe she’ll be lucky and no-one noticed-

-except she opens her door to leave and almost walks into Geralt’s chest, the pretentious asshole clearly having posed outside her door waiting for her to show up. The usual warm smile is on his face as he looks at her, but there’s something calculating in his eyes as he watches her sputter ridiculously and step away from him.

“Geralt!” she squeaks, scowling at him. “What the fuck are you doing, lurking outside doors like some kinda creep?”

He grins. “Says the girl who wasn’t even looking before she walked into me. I know my body is irresistible, but please, Calli, control yourself.”

She shoves him with barely a thought, hiding a smile as he laughs at the gesture. “I’ve seen better,” she teases. “Guess the only way you can attract girls is to lurk nearby to make them walk into you.”

He staggers dramatically, hand over his heart. “Calli! Oh, that blow cuts deep! How could you imply that?”

She rolls her eyes. “How could you not tell me that Corso was here? I thought he was still on Port Nowhere.” She’d recognise his fucking guns anywhere, he went on about them often enough.

Geralt’s distraught expression switches to smug so fast it almost makes her head spin. “Guess it slipped my mind,” he says lazily. “How did _you_ know he was here, anyway? I didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Fucking _Esne_ , how did she fall for that. “Uh…”

He smirks, smile wide. “Didn’t end up in Corso’s room after all this time did you? Calli. Babe. Come on.”

She growls at him and hits his arm again, causing him to wince this time. “I didn’t sleep with _Corso_ , fucking hells,” she hisses, crossing her arms defensively as she leans against the doorframe; thankfully, no one else appears to be coming and going in the hallway at whatever hour this is, so there’s no one to hear him suggest such ungodly ideas. “Got _some_ fucking standards, alright?”

Geralt snorts, but after he rolls his shoulder back his expression is serious and she sighs. He’s totally here about Arcann. “Of course you know,” she grumbles. She takes a deep breath, having practiced her speech repeatedly while she was getting dressed. “Look, it’s none of your business, and-”

He puts his hand over her mouth, looking faintly amused. “Cal, come on. You know me. Just checking that you’re alright, hun.”

He’s got a point. He’s probably the only one of them who might get cranky at Arcann, but not judge her at all for the choice - Aivela knows he’s certainly made some bad choices in partners over the years, especially before he and Risha got together. So maybe she can keep her temper under control to appreciate that.

Damn him though, and she crossly licks his hand to make him jump back with a disgusted look on his face. “Hey!”

She giggles, sticking her tongue out at him. “Your own fault!” she teases, before giving him a genuine smile. “And yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine. It was... it was a mutual agreement this time, no-one got dragged off - it’s all good.”

Geralt’s expression is shrewd as he looks back at her, and she folds her arms at him again, more haughtily this time. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s _fine_ , I swear. Blew off some steam, had some great sex - oh come off it, don’t do that, you already fucking knew and _you are being a brat Geralt_.”

He pouts, dropping his scandalised face. “You’re no fun,” he sulks.

She smirks. “Actually, turns out I’m a great deal of fun. Did you know that if I curl my tongue _just so_ -”

Geralt immediately puts his hands over his ears. “La la la _not listening_.”

She rolls her eyes again, waiting for him to stop carrying on before stepping forward to hug him. “You’re such an idiot,” she mumbles into his chest.

She feels him move his arms around her, kissing her hair, and it’s amazing how the gesture makes her feel one hundred times better. “Love you too, babe,” he murmurs. “Now come on, let’s go feed the hangovers with all the greasy food we can find yeah?”

She nods, before stepping back to look up at him. He still looks a little concerned, and she wonders why - she already told him they were fine, it’s not like there’s anything to worry about. She and Arcann had sex, they both agreed it was just sex, they both agreed it was _good_ sex, and now they move on. Easy as pie.

Mmm, pie.

Worry about Geralt’s weird faces later, pie now. She’s totally fine, he’s just making a deal over nothing.

“Is there pie in the mess hall today?”

 

* * *

 

By the time Arcann makes his way into the mess hall, it is well into the afternoon, though there is still some lunch items available. It had taken longer than he thought to have his arm seen to, though Lieca and her brother-in-law seemed pleased at the eventual progress.

He’s not entirely certain why Lieca was even working - she looked absolutely exhausted, and although he had no right to tell her to do anything, it still lingered at the tip of his tongue to tell her to go back to bed. It appeared that Doc agreed with him, casually commenting on the same while he worked on Arcann’s arm.

From his prior research on Lieca’s family, he knows that Doc had not received official training in specialised cybernetic treatments prior to his serving on Balmorra, but it appears that he supplemented his knowledge at some point after meeting his wife because he seems more than competent now. It had been significantly harder to track the doctor once he joined Cera and her crew, his records seemingly erased and movements shrouded in obscurity.

The man clearly does not hold an exceptionally high opinion of him - in all fairness, considering the role Arcann played in disrupting his family life so significantly - but it does not appear to impact on his medical care in the slightest. He does not change his attitude or his movements when Lieca wanders closer, in contrast to nearly everyone else on this base.

Feeling slightly unnerved by the man’s uncharacteristic silence, Arcann had hesitantly questioned him about his training, not entirely sure why he was trying to draw him into conversation. The older man had shrugged and waited until Lieca moved away to answer - his now brother-in-law, Theron Shan, required cybernetic care quite often, and as family in hiding it ended up becoming his responsibility.

And then Doc smirked as he’d explained that he’d also been trained by Dia’ayla and another of the surgeons at her practice, and innocently asked if Arcann had been following her training schedules.

He absolutely does not fear the twi’lek doctor, but apparently his expression after admitting that he hadn’t and Doc pretending to call her into the room was alarmed enough to cause Doc to burst out laughing and Lieca to come rushing over.

He grumbles at the memory as he chooses a slice of pie from the remnants of the earlier mountain of food, adding it to his tray. Luckily Thexan had been available that first day he had food that was not brought to him personally, to explain the mystifying concept of buffet eating. It feels like such an unhygienic practice to him, but apparently it serves the rest of the galaxy well. Somehow.

He has seen others occasionally requesting individualised food from the cooks, especially if eating outside of the normal hours like he is. but he knows better than to try to request special treatment. He can feel the glaring eyes on him enough as it is. At least this late in the day there are few patrons nearby, so it is easy to find an empty table at the back of the room to eat out of everyone’s way.

The pie tastes a little strange - some kind of spiced meat that he doesn’t recognise -, but he can’t really complain, so he just deals with it before switching his attention to the small red fruit he had also picked up. If he’s right, it should be the same as the one Thexan was slicing up for Anya the day before, before eating one himself without slicing it, and so it should be acceptable to just eat it as is.

His arm might be aching less now, but he would still prefer to avoid using that hand if he can, so food that requires less attention to eat is easier. At least he has a datapad to read while he ate, trying to pretend he doesn’t notice the hostile stares from around the mess hall. Of course, being so absorbed in his food and his reading, it takes him too long to register a new presence entering the hall and heading straight for him, a decidedly unfriendly look on the bright green face.

Geralt Abelli does actually startle him when he suddenly appears in front of him, drawing his attention quite quickly - he even checks to see if he’s wearing the stealth generator he has previously noticed on his belt. Pale blue eyes narrow further when he looks up at his face. “Hello,” Arcann starts uncertainly.

Geralt’s expression barely changes, significantly unimpressed at the sight of him. “Hi,” he drawls sarcastically. “What have you been up to?”

Arcann blinks in confusion. “What?”

Geralt merely stares at him, and it’s a little unsettling to see a man who’s usually projecting such casual friendliness look at him so seriously. It’s different to the way everyone else glares at him - the masses don’t seem interested in even pretending to like him, which Geralt has easily run with before.

Arcann sighs, some sort of warning running down his spine and keeping him still. “Well, currently I am eating lunch,” he starts slowly, looking for some sort of hint as to what Abelli wants.

Geralt smiles, but there’s a little too much teeth in the expression for it to seem at all friendly. He reaches down slowly, planting both hands on the table as he leans forward until his face is only inches from his. “So,” he begins candidly, his tone far too friendly for the violence simmering in his eyes, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing with my sister?”

Arcann blinks again. “I... do not even _know_ your sister, I thought her work kept her on Nar Shaddaa?”

There’s a flicker of something on Geralt’s face before settling back into wary judgement. “Not Vitalia,” he says crossly. “ _Calli_.”

_Oh_.

“I... I was not aware that you referred to her as such,” he says stiffly.

“Oh, I think the things you are not aware of would fill volumes,” Geralt snarks back, pulling out the other chair at the table and sitting down so hard the legs squeak on the duracrete floor; he stabs a finger towards him. “So I’ll say again - what do you think you’re doing?”

Angry family members is something he has luckily avoided thus far in his life - perks of being the Emperor and all, no-one would question him - and he briefly entertains the idea of taking that back solely to continue avoiding these conversations. “I _think_ it of no concern of yours.”

“You _made it_ my concern when you hurt my baby sister, and then came waltzing back in here to try again.”

“I do not enjoy waltzing,” he says flatly, trying to determine a way out of this conversation.

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re _so_ funny,” he responds dryly, a little too much bite in the words for them to be even considered even remotely friendly. “Stay away from her.”

“What?”

Geralt bares his teeth again. “ _Stay away_ from her. You’ve done enough to her already - I don’t know and I don’t _want_ to know what lies you told her before, but if you hurt her again, you and I are going to have _some fucking words_.”

But he didn’t lie, he _never_ lied to her, and it makes his temper flare. Especially at the insinuation that this man is capable of scaring him - _him_ , who had fear beaten out of him before he could crawl! “You imply that it wasn’t entirely her choice,” he snaps. It makes him feel a little ill, that her best friend thinks him capable of forcing himself upon her. “I did not start this!”

Geralt breathes through his nose, looking rather frustrated now. “I love her, dearly, but her taste in partners is occasionally... questionable. She deserves far better than any of this.”

Arcann bristles - he agrees that she deserves far more than anything here, but the idea that she is somehow to blame... “For someone that loves her, you are certainly interested in forcing her to act in a way that _you_ approve of. Do you often police Calli’s actions, rather than trusting her to make her own decisions?”

Geralt raises his eyebrow, though there’s a flash of what could almost be approval in his eyes. What is that about? “‘ _Calli_ ’ huh? What happened to Callistra?”

Arcann looks away fast, feeling his cheeks burn a little at the slip. It’s true that he’s been careful to call her by her full name when he’s had to address her or speak of her, acquiescing to her earlier wishes that he not speak her nickname. “You call her such,” he mutters quickly.

Geralt looks far too calculating for his peace of mind. “I have permission,” he says quietly. “You on the other hand… did she tell you you could?”

The memories are suddenly overwhelming, and he’s rather glad his leather armour doesn’t reveal too much. “She had other things to tell me,” he responds, perhaps a tad overly politely.

Geralt looks mildly annoyed at that. “Okay _Tirall_ , I am trying to avoid beating you into the ground here, and you are not helping. _Zip it_.”

“Zip it?”

“ _Shut up_. I do not care for your flippancy. Former Emperor or not, you touch my girl’s heart and I will _break you_.”

That would be a significant achievement, considering his own Force training should negate anything Geralt does, but this is also the only time he’s ever see the Mirialan not smiling and it warns him to take him seriously. It’s usually hard to remember this man all but runs the galactic underworld, but right now he believes it. “You assume that Calli would not get there first,” he answers crossly, trying not to think about how easily Calli could hurt him.

_“And um, since you seem pretty freaked out, I’ll just say it’s fine, I know that’s a once-off. I won’t make you deal with anything... else.”_

There’s that flicker of almost approval on Geralt’s face again. “You know, you’re the first one to ever remember that part,” he says, folding his arms, but his expression does relax a bit. “She’s way more vengeful than me.”

Arcann gets the sudden feeling he’s drawn a sword to start a duel and the sword just breaks, leaving him awkwardly holding the hilt. “What?”

Geralt snorts, suddenly looking his usual less-dangerous self. “Well, the first guy to ever try to screw her over? She shot him in the groin and left him bleeding to death on a ship falling into a black hole at the time,” he says easily. “I advocated for beating the shit out of him first but, you know, that’s some damn fine poetry right there. Can’t interfere with a masterpiece like that.”

Yes, definitely brandishing a weapon for no purpose now. Also, that sounds terrifying. “What? When was this?”

Geralt smirks. “The first year we met actually - she’s had about a decade since then to think of more creative revenge, but I think it’s hard to top that, yeah?”

“... yes?”

Geralt suddenly claps his shoulder and he tries not to wince at the potentially friendly gesture. “Don’t worry, if required, we’ll find a way.”

That’s somehow significantly more threatening when the man looks so cheerful. “Ah, noted?”

Geralt nods, seeming rather pleased, and stands to leave even though Arcann is fairly certain this conversation has achieved nothing. “You do know that this is all entirely irrelevant though right?” he says cautiously, as Geralt looks back at him. “It was made abundantly clear that this was a once-off, so your reaction is unwarranted. Calli does not need protection from me.”

Geralt pauses and stares at him for so long he starts to feel a little uncomfortable. “What?”

Geralt sighs. “Sure, mm-hmm, I see. That’s definitely what’s happening here.”

Arcann frowns. “I... what?”

Geralt shakes his head. “You’ll figure it out,” he says, definitely amused now. “Good luck with that. You’re gonna need it.”


	36. Consequences

Arcann watches Geralt leave the mess hall, utterly mystified as to what the Mirialan had even been trying to achieve. Replaying the conversation in his head for clues only further baffles him, especially how Geralt went from threatening him to seeming relatively pleased at his responses, but... what had changed? What had he said exactly that had warranted the other man’s approval? And actually, why did it matter that he had Geralt’s approval?

Because it did, in a frustrating way - there’s a part of him that is relieved that the conversation is over and done with, and that Geralt has apparently walked away satisfied. He’s never done this before, this... whatever it is, indulging himself with a partner who he has to see afterwards, who he has to spend time with afterwards. Geralt had certainly fixated on that, and the notion that spending time with him would only cause Calli pain.

The idea of hurting Calli in any way causes a wretchedly sour feeling in his stomach, and he pushes away his unfinished lunch. He didn’t, he _wouldn’t_. He made sure that this was what she wanted, that _he_ was what she wanted. And holy gods above and below, _how_ she wanted him. Being with her again was even better than his memories of their first time together, the way she so eagerly touched him and teased him and moaned his name in his ear. He could definitely get used to that.

Which is strange, in its own way. He has had many lovers over the years, both before and after he became Emperor. But there have been none in a very, very long time that he bothered to see more than once. Intentionally, at least. The higher society circles seemed significantly smaller when you were sleeping your way through them.

But Calli was definitely the only one to ever see him without his mask. The only one he kissed since before that horrible day on Korriban that he barely even remembers. The only one he _wanted_ to kiss. He has almost forgotten how good it felt to bring a partner pleasure with his mouth. Even just the press of his lips against hers had her sighing into him, his teeth at her neck causing breathy moans into his ear.

He has to admit, at least part of him was still a little... _terrified_ , that Calli would reject his scars, his arm, and realise the stupidity of her decision. But instead, she had actually moved her lips over the scars, scattering kisses over his skin like he didn’t feel her touch like a brand even through the deadened nerves. To the point he could barely take it anymore, raggedly demanding she cease in a voice so close to a whine it would be unthinkable to voice as such to anyone else.

He will not _beg_. He will _never_ beg. He is a Prince of Zakuul, an _Emperor_ of Zakuul.

What is it about her that pushes past every preconceived notion he has about sex?

And of course, every exceptionally pleasant memory he has of his time with her last night is pushed aside at their awkward interaction this morning, the way she could barely look at him even as she confirmed her choice before she fled from his sight.

Is that how it would have been if she stayed when they first met? Would she have still run from him, uncaring of his feelings on the matter?

The thought makes his stomach ache again, and he eyes his abandoned food wrathfully. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. Of course, standing up so abruptly does make his head spin, but he chooses to ignore both that and the way his arm twitches as he moves away from the table.

He decides not to mention that he can understand the hissed expletive of the patron sitting near the door as he passes - though considering the behaviour of most in this place, that’s likely intentional.

Hmm. He stormed from the room so quickly, he didn’t have a moment to consider where he was going to go.

On the bright side, there is so few places he is welcome anyway, it significantly lessens his choices. Thexan keeps trying to encourage him to join him in the training rooms with the older children and their lessons but... he’s not ready for that yet. He doesn’t want anyone to ask him to spar against his brother ever again.

Lieca had asked to see him though, hadn’t she? When she had to leave the medical bay a few hours ago, and her friend (Cedrak? Was that it?) had stepped in to help Doc with his arm. Well, he thinks he was helping. The two doctors tended to talk so much that it was a little overwhelming to be around them, alternating between discussing medical jargon he doesn’t understand and multiple levels of bickering.

So, might as well go to see Lieca. It helps that she is one of the few that tolerates him... and that he actually knows where her office is. This base is so confusing sometimes. Absolutely no consideration for symmetrical designs or architectural marvels or even consistency. How is he ever supposed to find his way around such an unnecessarily cramped space without carrying a map?

Of course, even once he reaches Lieca’s office, he’s not exactly guaranteed entry - not with the strange little hologram that seems to be her fiercest bodyguard standing at the ready to snippily deny him an audience. Even more so than the oddly happy and incredibly protective droid that tends to follow Lieca around, a clearly illegally modified sniper rifle held at the ready at all times. This time he doesn’t even get a chance to knock at the closed door, before the tiny hologram appears in the console sticking out from the doorframe. _“Hrmph! What do_ you _want?”_

Warily keeping one eye on the assassin droid across the hallway openly staring at him with pale glowing jewel eyes, he does his best to offer Holiday a courteous nod of greeting. He had learned quickly that politeness is about the only thing to get through to this AI. He’s still not entirely sure why she nearly always seems _pink_ though. “Hello Holiday,” he says stiffly. “Lieca asked to see me.”

The seemingly young woman folds her arms, expression unchanging. _“First Calli, and now Lieca? Why can’t you just stop it?”_

He has no idea what the hologram is talking about, and is really not in the mood to be lectured _again_ \- and this time by an AI, of all things. But the mention of Calli does make him feel like his back is up against the wall. “That is not your concern,” he snaps angrily, choosing to ignore the _harrumphed_ response as he tentatively reaches through the Force to try to locate Lieca to let her know he’s outside.

He frowns as he gently pushes against her mind and feels nothing in response, not even her distracted acknowledgement of his presence, and the sudden flash of emotion in him turns his tone sharper than he intended. “Is she here?”

Holiday seems briefly surprised, arms unfolding and looking at him in puzzlement. _“What? Of course! But why do you seem worried?”_

He growls, face flushing as he steps back. “I can’t feel her. Is she alright?”

Holiday shifts her hands to her hips. _“Huh. Maybe you can be nice after all. Unlocking now.”_

He’s about to argue the point when he hears the door unlatch and he decides to just go inside instead, nodding curtly at the little hologram and trying not to express his frustration as he does so.

He’s been in Lieca’s office several times since his arrival on Odessen - like everything else here, it’s way too small compared to the space he was used to from the palace, but the decor is neat and tidy and its _quiet_ , so he always tries to focus on that rather than the sensation that the walls are closing in on him. He’s slowly getting used to the smaller quarters for sleeping and the like, but sometimes he just... needs to prepare himself a bit before entering them.

His gaze moves almost immediately to Lieca’s desk, and the initial spike of panic at seeing her lying face down on the desktop eases away when common sense kicks in and he realises she’s simply fast asleep, resting her head on her arms. He frowns. She had told him to meet her here after lunch, so... why is she sleeping? Although, that can’t be comfortable - he’s fairly sure the beds here are perfectly acceptable to non-Emperor folk, but sleeping at one’s desk is probably pushing the limit of comfort a little bit too far.

Especially when she has a nice squishy couch right behind her desk - usually she’s curled up there and reading something when he enters this space. Why not sleep there?

He awkwardly skirts around the desk to her side, not sure whether to bother her or to just take his leave and come back tomorrow. From the faint darkness under her eyes, even while she is asleep, he suspects it might not be entirely voluntary that she’s sleeping in her chair and his frowns deepens. The sensation he feels at that thought is odd and he pauses, trying to examine it.

Is he... is he _worried_ about her?

From a practical perspective, it makes sense - he’s not a complete idiot, and he knows that his presence here on Odessen is very much dependent on Lieca and her good will. As much as his family seems to want him around - a bewildering feeling on its own - he’s sure they do not exactly have enough standing to have a say in such a relatively important decision. And many of the others here that seem to make up Lieca’s inner council - or whatever she calls them - clearly do not like him, her husband for one. And her twin does not seem entirely fond of him either, always looking at him with some strange speculative look on her face if she’s not being openly disdainful of him.

So what should he do? Should he wake her?

Apparently his thoughts are a little louder than he was hoping, because Lieca suddenly starts to stir, the same dark blue eyes as her sister staring at him foggily once she lifts her head.

He swallows down the sense of panic that look gives him, and Lieca’s eyes widen almost comically. “Oh!” she says, quickly sitting up and starting to rub her face. “Arcann! I’m so sorry, I did not even hear you come in.”

He shuffles on his feet, looking to the bookcase for a moment. “It’s no trouble,” he mutters. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

She shakes her head quickly, still looking rather tired, but then her gaze shifts to the holocom terminal on her desk and her eyes widen further. “Oh no,” she moans, suddenly looking horrified.

He notices the blinking light on the terminal moments before Lieca reactivates it and the image of another woman flickers above it. _“Hello again. Did you have a nice nap at least?”_

He can’t place her face in the slightest, but her accent is obviously Imperial, and he must admit he’s a little curious.

Lieca looks so worried though, he wonders if he should say something to break the tension. “Saria! Oh darling, I’m so sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep! How long has it been?”

The Chiss woman - apparently ‘Saria’ - chuckles. _“Lieca, please. You obviously needed the rest, it’s no trouble. Vector is still in the dining room with your family’s seneschal anyway.”_

Lieca smiles sweetly, and he feels a little more reassured - though still rather awkward about being there in the first place. “If you’re certain - though I’m so glad you’re enjoying the house. I didn’t want to push you or anything and-”

_“Lieca. We’re fine. Stop being such a Jedi. As I was saying earlier, we should be thanking you for letting us stay in your family estates - your seneschal is clearly delighted to have us here anyway. I think he mostly enjoys his arguments with Vector on proper etiquette.”_

Lieca frowns. “Oh? That’s strange, I don’t remember him being so proper before-”

 _“And of course, that requires them both to have Lady Elise’s baked goods on hand at all times for ‘tasting’,”_ Saria continues in clear amusement, and Lieca makes a soft noise of comprehension. _“I think they have also drunk half of your tea stores - Vector seems to prefer the white jasmine one I believe. It’s been a wonderful time, and the kids love it here too.”_

The Chiss woman then shakes her head. _“Anyway, I should be going now. I just stayed nearby in case you called back. Go sleep, please. Don’t make me call your sister.”_

Lieca almost immediately starts to protest and the Chiss just blinks slowly at her. _“We’ll talk soon. Goodbye.”_

The connection fizzles as it stops, and Lieca pulls an amusingly frustrated face at the terminal before quickly schooling her expression to look back at him. “I’m sorry about that Arcann, I didn’t want her to think that I had abandoned her.”

He shrugs stiffly, ignoring the way his arm twitches at the movement. “It’s no concern of mine,” he mutters, watching her warily as she gets up from her desk and moves to stand in front of him.

She gestures for his arm. “May I?”

Of course she could tell. He stares at her for a moment before jerking his head in a nod, trying not to flinch as Lieca gently presses her hands against his shoulder. Even healing touches feel too intimate for the lack of personal contact he’s used to, even now, months after he was last on Zakuul. “How did you know?”

She sighs, smiling patiently at him even despite her obvious tiredness, as the Force starts to soothe the ache in his shoulder. “I may be put to diplomatic work here, but I was a healer first,” she says, before looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “And when we’re standing this close and you’re projecting, I can hear your thoughts.”

He flushes slightly, trying to focus on not twitching his arm as the Force flows through it. He quickly learnt his lesson back on Nar Shaddaa after accidentally striking Dia’ayla - not something to be repeated. “Ah. My apologies.”

She shakes her head, looking amused. “It’s alright Arcann. I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable too - normally I wouldn’t need to touch, but the contact makes it far easier to focus when I’m tired.”

“You don’t need to apologise-”

She cuts him off by squeezing his shoulder. “Arcann. Your personal boundaries still matter. Just because I am tired does not mean you should be forced to suffer.”

He swallows. Her words might mean nothing to her, but her continual kindness still manages to surprise him. “Thank you,” he says quietly, waiting for her to finish.

She eventually steps back, and he wishes the darkness around her eyes didn’t seem more pronounced. He does not want to be an additional burden to her. “There, all done,” she says gently, sounding pleased. “I should get back to these reports-”

“Lieca.”

She actually jumps at his address - he so rarely uses her name, after all. “Yes?”

He frowns at her. “Stop working and sit down,” he says, the words sounding completely foreign on his tongue for someone who used to rule an Empire and should be far more used to giving orders. But never of a concerned nature.

She seems amused at his words, raising her eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Stop working and relax for a moment,” he hisses, suddenly remembering the few times Vaylin had uncertainly said the same thing to him. He’s not sure if he misses his sister, but he still does not want her to be upset that he’s gone.

Well. That’s assuming she cares enough to be upset in the first place. Their relationship has always been awkward, more so since he rescued her from Nathema. Seeing the families here just confirms how oddly the two of them have always acted around each other, and something about that makes him feel miserable.

Lieca, however, seems unaware of his inner turmoil and stubbornly picks up the datapad near her elbow. “Arcann, I have too much to do,” she says distractedly. “I just... I need to sleep more, but I _can’t_ , and these reports can’t wait and-”

“Is it my father?”

The silence that suddenly echoes in the room makes him wince, but it’s too late to take the words back now. Izax knows, he’s certainly been having nightmares about his father ever since he found out he was back all those months ago, and they’ve only gotten stronger since he joined the Alliance.

He can’t imagine what it would be like to actually have his father in his head, and he represses a shudder at the thought. He will not show weakness here!

Lieca closes her eyes but eventually nods, and he feels like there’s a sudden ring of ice around his heart. “The shield is failing,” she answers quietly. “I can’t contact Darth Marr anymore; there is too much of him tied up in our futile efforts to hold him back. It’s too much risk to Satele also - I’ve... I’ve asked her to step aside. I can... I can _handle_ him.”

She actually seems to calm down as she opens her eyes again to look at him, and he wonders what she sees in his expression. “I can do this,” she repeats again. “I will not allow him to hurt you.”

The protective quality of her voice throws him, and he unintentionally steps back. “What?”

She suddenly smiles, all sweetness and light, and he has the abrupt impression of the sun appearing from behind the storm of her blue eyes. “I have always been able to do the impossible, as long as I have someone to protect,” she says, sounding more stubborn now, more sure of herself as she commits to her goal. “This time will be no different.”

“ _Me_?”

She tilts her head to the side, her mannerisms so like her younger sister (when she’s not spitting rage at him, of course) that it almost makes him smile despite the tenseness of the moment, and she nods. “You are more at risk than my family - even when he tried to outright possess me, he could not harm them through me,” Lieca answers, the echo of horror in her voice sending a chill down his spine. “He has always undervalued the children he has - he does not treat you well, he is abusive and horrible and uncaring. You all deserved a better father than him.”

The conviction on her face is almost frightening as she steps closer again, but still somehow radiantly sweet. He wonders how she knew that he was questioning why his presence is of more concern than that of the safety of her own family. “I believe that you are strong enough to stop him, to stop letting his hatred rule your decisions. If you cannot trust me, cannot trust what I am capable of - please, trust _yourself_. Trust the family that loves you. Defy the man who brought you so much pain, and follow your heart instead, Arcann.”

He swallows. How can she even say these things to him, so blatantly offer her support when he had previously shown her nothing but contempt? “Why do you support me, after all I have done?” he chokes out. “You... I…”

She slowly reaches out and carefully touches his arm, still smiling. “Because I believe you can do this, Arcann. You’ve already done so well - we can’t expect things to change overnight. But what matters is that you keep trying, and that it’s something you want to do. One day at a time?”

He nods, trying to stop the irrational urge to run when she touches him, though it’s only when she steps back again that he feels he can breathe. “I’m sorry that I froze you in carbonite,” he says, relief making him blurt out the words he wasn’t entirely expecting.

She blinks, seemingly surprised. “What?”

He swallows again, some sort of lump seeming to form in his throat. It’s not tears, it’s never tears, he won’t cry, he never cries. “I knew he couldn’t be gone, that it couldn’t be that easy. I knew he had to still be there, and there was no-one else around and…”

“If he wasn’t in your head, he had to be in mine,” she continues softly, reaching up to rub her temple absently. “So you chose to seal me, rather than kill me, in the vain hope it would keep him from you.”

He wishes that she didn’t know the thought of killing her had crossed his mind, in that first moment when they met all those years ago. This Jedi, all gentle appearance and soft words - what threat could she possibly have offered to them? What could she do?

And then his father demanded her allegiance and she stood there and denied him. This woman, who together with her twin defeated the Sith Emperor and escaped his clutches, who simply stood there without flinching as his monster of a father laughed in her face? Her far more terrifying Sith companion reacted with anger and death, attempting to strike Valkorion down - and Lieca, knowing full well what he was capable of, merely scolded him, a flicker of disapproval on her face as he promised her his full attention for her abilities.

His father promised her everything that he had ever wanted, that glimmer of approval he had sought for so long. The reason he lashed out and almost killed his beloved twin, his desperation that everything they had suffered would be worth it if only their father had approved of them.

And Lieca had said no. She scolded Valkorion to his face, chastising him for his cruelty, her heart on her sleeve. And he finally saw a glimmer of hope - Thexan hadn’t helped him. Thexan had chosen their father over him. He knows differently now, after discussion and forgiveness and a great many tears on his brother’s shoulder, but at the time, full of grief and rage, he only saw Thexan saving Valkorion and rejecting him.

But Thexan had also never defied Valkorion as Lieca had. Maybe Lieca could succeed where Thexan had not. Thexan had been gone for so short a time - his grief kept him from thinking clearly at the best of times anyway. He grabbed any chance of hope that he could.

And once again, he had failed. His father had defeated him without even raising a sweat, and Lieca was left to pick up the pieces - and Valkorion had just _laughed_.

He had awakened and stumbled to his feet after it was all over, seen the carnage before him - seen the Jedi he blindly believed in lying on the ground near his father’s body - and he knew. He _knew_ that Valkorion wasn’t gone. He knew he could never be that lucky. But where else could he be? And his own jealousy and fear turned him against Lieca. Better her than him, right? She helped him, but she couldn’t be trusted. She murdered the Emperor - what was she capable of doing to him? Especially with Valkorion inside her head? Her stubbornness, her skill, her strength - they worked for Valkorion now. Better locked up than killed. What if she just came back too? Protecting his people, protecting _himself_ \- it was the logical choice!

He never exactly imagined her confronting him over it, even with her gentle reminders of his betrayal at their previous encounters.

She eventually smiles sadly. “We could have helped each other, all this time. But you made the choice, Arcann. And you’re going to have to accept that - though I do appreciate your apology.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

She nods, still looking sad. “Five years is a lot of time to lose,” she says quietly. “Five years without my daughter, without my sisters. Five years lost where I could have been building a family with the man I love, or helping to raise the next generation of padawans.”

What could he even say to that? _Sorry_ seemed like the most inadequate word in any language imaginable for the immensity of what he had done to her.

“Even before Valkorion’s presence started returning, I still heard his voice in my head a little too much for my liking,” she smiles again, but the skin around her eyes is tight and tired. “I do not regret standing up to him that day - but I still have the right to be upset about the consequences.”

Silence reigns for a long time before he eventually speaks again, his voice almost croaky at the emotions rising in his chest and throat. “Was this why you asked to see me?”

The moment is broken as she steps back again, shaking her head, moving towards her desk once more. “Actually, I... wanted to ask for your help,” she says hesitantly. “Part of my workload is trying to solve some logistical matters to try to aid the refugees from worlds that…”

She trails off awkwardly, and he realises he knows what she intended. “... worlds that I helped destroy,” he finishes quietly.

She winces, but nods. “The worlds bombed after I escaped from Zakuul, in particular. The broadcasts were vague about the reasoning, but public opinion is that it was retaliation for Alliance actions and so... it partially became our responsibility. I _made_ it our responsibility.”

He looks at the floor. “It was to punish those who acted outside of our treaties,” he mutters. “The shipyards and military installations - they were illegal, and clearly designed to aid the fight against Zakuul. No other ruler would have tolerated it-”

“The massacres on those worlds were beyond preemptive retaliation, Arcann,” she scolds. She folds her arms. “It may not have been your intention at the time, but your lack of response or publicly decrying the actions - it makes you complicit in your troops’ responses as their leader.”

He feels a brief glimmer of frustration there. She makes it sound so easy. “Your people love you. Mine only feared me.”

She raises her eyebrow. “And with good reason,” she answers evenly. “You are still responsible for what they did in your name. And now I am responsible for helping to clean up the mess, as best I can.”

She does not ask him for his aid again, and he realises that she is leaving it to his choice this time. He knows, somehow without asking, that she will not ask him for his help again. She will only take it if he offers.

He had always believed in the righteousness of his cause - Zakuul was his Empire, the greatest Empire. The Republic and Sith Empire were his enemies, what did it matter what happened to them? What did it matter how his army followed his orders, only that they did?

But he remembers Calli off-handedly mentioning her capture and imprisonment on his Star Fortress, remembers the way she and others have yelled at him about the suffering Zakuul has caused them. People on the ground who died because of him, not just pieces on a playing board against his father.

Perhaps he needs to swallow his pride a little more. It’s all well and good to decide to join the Alliance rather than go rogue or go home but... he needs to start actually doing _something_. To help the people who truly want to stop his father, and help others in the process.

He gestures with his uninjured arm towards her desk. “May I help?” he asks awkwardly.

Lieca smiles.

* * *

It’s several hours before Arcann finds himself back in his room and bored out of his mind. He had been coerced into dinner with his family earlier - apparently Anya’s favourite chair for the brief moments of dinner where she actually sat down was his lap, and so he was now covered in tiny little bruises from his energetic niece climbing all over him.

The chaos is starting to grow on him a little, as overwhelming as he finds it. Anya is always so happy to see him - something he’s never really experienced in his life, after all - and seeing her is the easiest way to cheer him up. He’s still rather nervous around little Jaelin though, and he’s fairly certain the toddler can sense his fear in return.

His mother always smiles indulgently when he mentions it, absently confirming that he and Thexan were the same as babies. Ona’la seems to delight in the stories Senya hesitantly tells as he and Thexan exchange looks over their shoulders.

It’s awkward, and it’s confronting, and he still feels like he doesn’t really belong but it’s... getting easier, to be around them, to see them smile when they see him.

Real smiles take some time to get used to after all.

Eventually Anya’s noise and energy had got a little too overwhelming though, and Thexan eventually noticed his plight and told him to go back to his room. He still finds it awkward to try to excuse himself from his family - he should feel grateful for spending any time with any of them. For years he thought that Thexan was dead, that his mother didn’t even care about him - he should be appreciating this time more!

Thexan understands though, even when he can’t actually talk to him about it. Thexan keeps him grounded as though it’s only been five minutes since the Festival of Esne in the city centre, and not nearly six years. In some ways, it’s like they were never apart - Thexan still looking after him in ways he can never really convey his thanks for, still protecting his twin. Even if this time it’s from his own highly energetic daughter.

But since he has done so little today he’s not exactly tired, and so after a brief interlude sitting in his room and attempting to distract himself with reading, he’s completely bored. He slept late, spent most of the rest of the day in the medlabs or trying to help Lieca, and trying desperately not to think about how Calli is clearly ignoring him.

Alright, perhaps that is unfair to him. He has admittedly been hiding away most of the day himself, so it’s not as though he would have come across her anyway. But he can’t shake the feeling that she _would_ be avoiding him if he were more active in seeking her out, and that realisation makes him surprisingly grumpy.

What do normal people even do when they’re not running an Empire or being trained under the guidance of a tyrant, anyway? He’s sick of reading. Who does this for fun?

He suddenly remembers the large amount of video footage he had discovered of Calli and her people in the bar on that Port Nowhere place. Perhaps the cantina then? The hopeful note in his chest that maybe Calli will be there again is studiously ignored. He’s not that foolish.

He rolls out of bed and moves to the door before he can change his mind, purposefully striding down the corridors towards the cantina. For once he doesn’t get lost, and he considers that a crowning achievement even as he reaches the doors and steps inside.

His steps falter to see the place significantly emptier than it usually is, certainly not even close to the wild partying of the night before. And Calli definitely isn’t there - her bright red hair and brighter smile would have made her stand out among the few patrons remaining.

Well.

That’s... well. It’s not like he got excited about the chance to see her, or anything. That would be foolish. He’s here because... because he was bored. In his room. He was bored in his room and it was... well, he’s here now. Are people staring? Might as well get a drink anyway. Maybe they will have icewine tonight.

Definitely no Calli? No, definitely no Calli. Not that he double checked. That would be foolish.

He pauses halfway to the bar, realising a few things in quick succession. One, that the bar staff are even less likely to be inclined to serve him without the party atmosphere and two, that he actually has no money. He remembers Thexan patiently explaining that non-alcoholic drinks were available at the strange meal ‘ _buffet_ ’ events, but alcohol was something that guests on the base had to pay for themselves.

Which is significantly difficult when he has nothing. He almost laughs at how this is the first time that notion has really struck him, and it’s over a drink he doesn’t even particularly want. He really does have nothing of his own here - even the clothes on his back were a gift, as was the arm quite literally plugged into his body. He has _nothing_.

His thoughts are interrupted as the lone man sitting at the bar suddenly spins around, and he recognises first the red jacket, and then the gleaming implants of Lieca’s husband, Theron Shan.

And judging from the glare he receives, there’s reason number three that he is unlikely to get a drink - not only does he have no money, but as he said to Calli last night, it is unlikely that anyone would wish to serve him in the first place.

He pauses as Theron stares at him, not quite sure what to say or do until the other man sighs, gesturing randomly. “If you want something, just add it to Lieca’s tab,” he mutters. “Force knows she ain’t using it. Add it to the intensely long list of things you owe her.”

The bitterness in his voice makes Arcann a little cautious of accepting, but, well, it would be exceptionally obvious how awkward and confused he is if he were to just leave now. Maybe staying for a drink would be more socially acceptable. His seneschals back home certainly preferred him to at least pretend to enjoy their needlessly extravagant galas before he could retreat to the quietness of his rooms. Maybe having a drink will be a similar response for this scenario?

... except he has no idea what to order, damnit. He suddenly misses the needlessly numerous champagne glasses of the palace, at least he never had to think about those. Although one of them had injured Calli, so perhaps he shouldn’t think so fondly of them after all.

Hmm. He wonders if his thoughts will eventually stop circling back to her. He’s never had this reaction to any of his former lovers, barely considering them at all after they left his rooms. Calli continues to baffle him.

He should really stop being surprised at that fact though.

At least while he was standing there like an imbecile, Theron had gestured at the bartender who refilled his glass and then poured another one, presumably for Arcann. The short glass with the wide bottom certainly matches the glasses he saw last night, and his innate concern for imminent assassination is relieved that the drinks are from the same bottle.

With no idea whether or not the invitation is a genuine offer of goodwill or some kind of sinister test, he awkwardly climbs onto the stool one down from Theron, making sure to leave an empty seat between them. For what, he doesn’t know, but it does rather feel like he’d be crowding the other man. Too chummy, for one thing. Easier for Shan to stab him discreetly, for another.

Theron grunts in acknowledgment when he sits, but doesn’t look at him. He still doesn’t drink until Theron does though, not recalling until _after_ he raised his glass to his own mouth that Theron is technically a spy, and has probably poisoned people in this manner in the past while having an antidote for himself close by. Either that, or he’s developed an immunity for it.

Well, too late now. Ignoble death by poisoning in a nearly abandoned cantina by the husband of the woman he had tried to kill several times and is now Force-bonded with it is. It’s not exactly what he expected, but it seems oddly fitting in it’s own ridiculous way.

He can almost hear Thexan laughing at him.

He should also probably have recognised the drink more than just the glass, as it appears to be the same whiskey that Calli was drinking yesterday, and he stops himself from spluttering about it again through sheer willpower alone as he swallows. He must have made a face though, as Theron suddenly snorts. “Not quite to your taste? And here you seemed so fond of it yesterday.”

He gives the other man an odd look, purposefully putting the glass back on the bench. “I believe my reaction was fairly clear yesterday,” he mutters crossly, unsure if Theron is trying to tease him about his reaction and chose this drink on purpose to mock or insult him. His tone doesn’t sound quite like teasing, it’s a little too hostile.

Theron waves his hand. “Uh-huh. That’s exactly why you climbed all over Calli shortly after.” Arcann feels his face flame, and Theron rolls his eyes. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I have eyes, and occasionally like to use them,” he answers. “At least she has good taste in whiskey, if nothing else.”

Arcann flushes deeper, glaring at him in turn. “Actually, she said this whiskey was terrible, but it was the best she could get here.”

Theron smirks, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. Something’s clearly bothering him, as much as it alarms Arcann to realise he’s slowly becoming more accustomed to reading other’s facial expressions. “She’s certainly right there, but we smashed the last bottle of Corellian Crystal single malt weeks ago. Kinda hard to get that replaced - you know, wartime and finances and all. Guess we’ll stick to the simple stuff. Goes down easy enough - not the good stuff, but I guess it counts as my favourite here.”

Arcann nods politely, having no idea what he’s talking about, and glances around the room, reaching out with the Force. “Where is Lieca?”

Theron drops his glass back on the bench with slightly more force than usual, making him jump at the louder sound. “ _My wife_ is not here,” he answers tightly.

Now a little curious, Arcann hesitantly stretches out his senses to try to locate her. It’s hard to do sometimes - he’s years out of practice in locating a bond through the Force, but it does get easier. Especially if the other person is reaching back in turn - he finds Thexan far faster than he finds Lieca, his brother cheerfully pushing back against him as though to mimic some sort of psychic wave or something. But Lieca is a little harder to locate, and he frowns. What is she doing?

Eventually the Force answers his extremely hesitant call and he realises Lieca appears to still be in her office, or perhaps her room. They are quite close by after all, and the contentment she’s projecting matches her comfort in both places.

“I think she’s in your rooms - maybe reading?”

If possible, Theron’s scowls deepens. “Could you not do that? It’s fucking _creepy_ , all right?”

Arcann blinks in confusion, deliberately ignoring his own glass. “What? Use the Force to find her? But you didn’t know where she was.”

Theron actually snarls at him, and he almost takes a step back. “I said, _stop that, Tirall_. Stop fucking creeping on my wife and let her have a few _godsforsaken minutes_ of rest, alright?”

Alright, perhaps it’s true that nobody on this base owes him absolutely anything, but he had been nothing but polite and Theron was being exceptionally rude over nothing. What in Izak’s name is his problem? “She’s not bothered by it, or she’d say something. If she didn’t want to be found she could easily block me out. It’s just... normal.”

Theron chuckles darkly, and for one of the first times he actually understands what that phrase means. It’s not a happy laugh, that’s for sure. “Normal? Hrmph, sure. For _you_ types, maybe.”

He frowns. “Well, yes, but it just means that Lieca is certainly used to it. Why are you so upset?”

Theron takes another drink, staring straight ahead, and for a long moment he thinks the other man won’t answer him. “You don’t even understand,” Theron says quietly, still not looking at him.

Arcann frowns. “I asked, did I not? I fail to see what-”

Theron cuts him off with a frustrated sound. “You have a Force bond with her, alright?” he snaps, finally turning to glare at him. “I grew up hearing all these wonderful, amazing stories about the Force and the bonds people can share - but I’m Force-blind. I can’t have that. The bond you have with her... its something I can never share, no matter how much I love her. Just another thing where I can only look in from the outside.”

Arcann is too startled to do much more than stare at him and Theron swivels to look back at the bar. “She always had that bond with Cera, and Nadia, and now watching it grow with Flissa, and like... they’re her family. It’s to be expected. But you - you tried to _kill_ her. You took her away from us for so long, and you didn’t even _care_. You didn’t even _think_ about how many people you hurt until after she welcomed you into our home with open arms, because it’s _sooo hard_ for you, having to deal with everyone not instantly falling all over themselves to make you happy.”

Arcann swallows, and Theron glares at him again over his shoulder, the look cutting into him like knives. “I know it’s melodramatic, but it’s _not fair_. You get this insight into her mind, into her soul, but _I’m_ the one that loves her. _I’m_ the one that holds her at night when she has nightmares about the carbonite and the poisoning and just how close we came to losing her forever. Because of _you_. And I can still never know her like you do, no matter how much I try. Just because I was unlucky enough to be born without the Force. Another way the universe just wants to laugh at me. And sometimes, yeah! That kinda annoys me a little! So, if you don’t mind Mister Emperor sir, kindly let me drink myself into a stupor in peace, would ya?”

The moment drags out into awkwardly painful silence, Arcann trying to find something to say, and Theron moodily drinking and doing his best to pretend that he isn’t there. Or rather, he probably thinks that’s what he’s doing, but the hostility radiating off of him is enough that - if weaponised - could probably level a small city. Not quite as subtle as he probably thinks he is, and evidently the polite thing to do would be to leave him to it.

But Lieca loves Theron, so he can’t just leave him here to stew in his own toxicity. It’s bizarrely agonising in a way he’s never encountered to consider that he might be a source of conflict and pain in someone else’s relationship - not their life in general, but _specifically_ their relationship. It’s so unnerving and new, and although he may not know Theron very well, he is beginning to understand Lieca a little more. That bond that Theron is so jealous of, he supposes. Though at least he does understand why Theron is here now - he obviously doesn’t want Lieca to have to talk him through this. It’s not her fault she has the Force and he doesn’t, or that Arcann is bonded with her (well, that might be partially her fault for being such a good person that she kept reaching out to him, but that’s not the point), or that her husband hurts over something neither of them can help.

He needs to do _something_. Lieca has sacrificed so much for him. Like earlier today with her reports - it’s probably about time he starts to return the favour. That much of friendly interaction he understands.

Mind made up, he moves onto the stool next to Theron, ignoring the annoyed huff he makes as he does so. “She thinks about you all the time,” Arcann starts slowly, looking down at the bar and pretending he doesn’t notice Theron freeze beside him, trying to figure out how to word the concepts in ways someone without the Force might understand. Is that empathy? “I don’t... I don’t see what she’s thinking all of the time. That’s not how it works. But those few moments something slips through... it’s often about you. She... _glows_ when something reminds her of you, something beyond just a physical notion of happiness and love, and just...”

He looks down at his hands, at the arm she was helping her doctors work on only this afternoon. “She touches the earrings you bought her whenever she needs strength, and it always calms her down. When she’s frustrated, some reminder of you will always help her patience. And when you’re together... even if you can’t feel it, she’s always reaching for you. I can’t help her with her nightmares. I don’t know what to say when she’s upset or when she needs help. Having a Force bond doesn’t mean I know her the same way you do, it doesn’t mean that I’m a comfort for her, it doesn’t mean that I’m what she needs or that I can help her. She needs _you_.”

He takes a shaky breath, stuttering to a halt as he realises how close he was to just babbling stupidly. He clenches his hands once, twice, still marvelling at the way his new arm responds with the same speed and sensitivity as the other.

It must be nice to be needed like that.

Eventually, after a moment to gain control of himself again, he glances over at Theron, mildly startled to see the other man staring at him intently. The low lighting of the bar area tints his skin darker and makes the gold of his eyes stand out more, and Arcann is further startled to realise that’s the first time he’s seen golden eyes set in someone’s face and not wanted to flinch.

Theron notices himself being watched - and to Arcann’s surprise, he doesn’t snarl at him to get out or shut up. “Am I seriously getting relationship advice from the ex-Emperor of Zakuul instead of being allowed to drink angstily by myself?” he asks dryly.

Arcann frowns. “What?” Theron’s mood does seem lighter, so he would count that as a success, but the conversation does appear to have veered off course at some critical juncture and he’s a little lost. “That’s not what I was doing.”

Theron chuckles, lifting his drink to his mouth again. “Good, because you are _sooo_ not in a position to give that advice out,” he observes before taking a drink.

Arcann’s frowns deepens. “What? What are you talking about?”

Theron rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it. You don’t want me to sulk either. Stars, it’s like nobody on this base can be sad for a few hours.”

“I never said you couldn’t be sad,” Arcann protests awkwardly. “I just... well, I knew she would rather I helped than let you... be... sad.”

…. he can definitely hear Thexan laughing at him for this.

Theron chuckles again. “Force, you even start to sound like her sometimes,” he mutters into his glass. “And it’s still weird that you’re trying to help my relationship.”

“Why?”

Theron stares at him. “Um... ex-Emperor of Zakuul? Attempted murderer of us all? Might have something to do with the weird part. Never quite how I saw my life going.”

“Oh, um, besides... that.”

Theron rolls his eyes. “Alright then. So how’s Calli anyway?”

Arcann narrows his eyes. “What? I imagine she’s fine. Why do you ask?”

Theron sighs.

* * *

Lieca isn’t entirely sure how long she’s lain awake in bed, desperately trying to go back to sleep, but it’s probably been about an hour.

Force, she is so _exhausted_ , and all but collapsed in Theron’s arms earlier after he finally came to bed - and then as soon as something startled her awake, it didn’t matter, and she was unable to get back to sleep.

Theron’s arm is warm where it’s slung across her waist, but even the soft noises he makes in his sleep aren’t soothing her like they usually do. She’s just too frustrated.

She has her family back, and is helping everyone, and finally starting to make some progress with Arcann - and then one whisper in her mind is enough to bring it all crashing down.

She hates it. Hates _him_ for what he’s doing to her, to her family. Hates the way Theron’s eyes go all worried when she sways when she stands up, the way Flissa hovers after lessons even when she’s feeling fine. Hates the way her skin crawls at even the slightest suggestion of Valkorion’s violently honeyed words.

She especially hates the way he keeps trying to make her focus on Arcann, whispering vague threats from the corners of her mind around the shields her mentors have tried to box him in with. She wants to _help_ Arcann, not hurt him - he should have a chance to be a _person_. To be someone who can openly love his family and at least try to make amends for what he’s done without lashing out like a frightened angry child.

And yes, she’s humble enough to realise that at least part of her desire to help Arcann is to deny Valkorion and his own vile wishes of retribution against his son. He tormented her for years - if she can torment him back by genuinely helping someone, she’ll take it. She’s fairly certain he somehow engineered the Force bond she shares with his son too - well, if it helps her heal Arcann _and_ Valkorion suffers for it, all the better.

Suddenly she’s sick of lying in bed, and gently disentangles herself from Theron’s arms before slowly moving over to the window. Well, it’s not really a window - their room is too deep into the base for their own protection, they couldn’t possibly be on the outside - but Holiday and Tharan had installed a holographic display for her so that when she activates it one of the walls mimics the outside world. It even has a lovely pattern to mimic the crossed diamonds of the windows she remembers from her room on Tython, rather than just an open wall. It helps, to still feel like she can see the stars, without having to leave her room.

She wonders if her growing dislike of enclosed spaces is due to her time in carbonite, or the sense of unease she tends to feel from Arcann in smaller rooms. Her dislike has certainly gotten stronger since Arcann joined them, but she feels that might be connected to Valkorion - and the feeling of being _trapped_ that he brings with him - more than anything else.

She’s still amused that there’s a little window seat built into the wall too. Her friends know her a little too well - and she might have cried a little bit upon first seeing it, Theron desperately trying to figure out what was wrong as he held her close. It’s a brighter space now, even with the soft artificial lighting of the holographic display as she waves her hand to activate it. It’s now covered in cushions, including a few that had been made by her friends and gleefully stuffed by her daughter.

It’s almost a little cold in the room now, away from Theron’s warmth, and she pulls her light robe from over the back of the nearby chair as she pads over to the window. It’s decidedly less graceful climbing into the space in her ridiculously short nightgown as opposed to her usual long skirts and Jedi robes, but she still calms down as she turns to look out at the projection of the night sky.

It doesn’t matter that Valkorion is coming back. She won’t stop trying to help her loved ones. She won’t let him hurt them. She _won’t_.

The shield she’s maintaining presses down on her and for a moment she can’t breathe - until she hears a decidedly gross chuckle behind her ear and she mentally swats him away like a fly, surging upwards with a crackle of the Force energy that made her so well-known in the first place.

If it looks more like purple lightning than golden light to her mind’s eye, she chooses to ignore it. Even in sleep she can feel Cera softly answering her call, and she wraps herself in the love that inspires. For her sisters, for her daughter, for _Theron_. She won’t let Valkorion touch any of them.

As though her thoughts had woken him (sometimes, she’s not so sure he’s not Force sensitive after all), Theron suddenly makes a distressed noise from their bed, and she turns back to face him just as he sits up in a wild panic, half out of bed before he recognises the glow of manufactured starlight on the floor and realises she’s sitting in the window.

He may be completely panicked right now, but the way he relaxes when he sees her and the way the light catches his features… _Force_ she loves him.

Hrmph. Of course it will last, _go away_. The flicker of another presence in her mind is _wholly unwelcome_.

Theron yawns, bringing her back to herself as he sits heavily back down on the edge of the bed and runs his hand through his incredibly sleep-mussed hair. “Lieca?” he murmurs sleepily.

She wishes he didn’t sound so broken, her heart aching with guilt. They get so little time to themselves these days, and here she is moving away from him - even if that’s not what she’s doing, not at all, she still feels the reproach in his eyes, even if he doesn’t actually show it at all. “I’m here, love,” she answers, releasing her arms from around her knees and slowly getting to her feet.

She steadies herself on the fake windowsill as Theron rubs his eyes, yawning again. “Liss, what are you doing? Stars it’s... ugh, _early_.”

She giggles at the disgust in his voice, letting him focus on teasing rather than the rapid heartbeat she can feel from him even from across the room. “Couldn’t sleep,” she admits, slowly moving back towards him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Wasn’t worried,” he mutters, rubbing his neck awkwardly as she eventually climbs onto his lap, straddling his hips and hugging him close.

“Uh-huh,” she murmurs into his bare shoulder. “That explains why you weren’t staring at my legs just now.”

He grunts in response, but his arms tighten around her in turn and she happily holds him there. “Was too, you just missed it.”

She was wrong, this is much better than looking at the stars.

She doesn’t bother to acknowledge his grumbling, just clinging to him happily before his hands move to start playing with her hair. A sure a sign as any that he wants to talk about something, and she patiently waits, snuggling even closer.

Finally he sighs, and she feels him start to relax under her hands. “Liss…”

“Love?”

With her face pressed so close she can even feel him swallow, waiting for him to gather his thoughts before he shudders. “Everytime I wake up, and you’re not there, it takes a few moments to realise you’re not still gone,” he says honestly, a vague haunted quality to his voice. “I keep hoping one day I’ll accept that you are back now, back where you belong but... those _five years_ Liss... they were rough. And I’m sorry I keep panicking like that but I… I worry.”

She tightens her arms around him, hoping her breath isn’t tickling his neck and spoiling the moment. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, gently kissing the warm brown skin in front of her. “I’d like to say I understand but... I know I don’t. But I’ll still try to help - especially if that means forcing you to sleep at a reasonable hour so you can sleep next to me,” she teases. She knows by now that even when they’re being serious, he’s more comfortable when they’re teasing too.

Theron huffs against her hair. “You know, I’ve never been so jealous of your ability to use the Force, until you were gone,” he says quietly. “At least Cera could feel you out there, could feel reassured that you weren’t completely gone. I don’t have that... I’ll _never_ have that.”

She pulls back to look at him, his golden eyes shining even in the low lighting of the room as he continues. “You know me, I’ve never been one for blind faith,” he says, all gruff bravado if not for the look on his face.

She gently reaches up to trace his implants with her fingers, brushing his hair off his forehead in the process. “Says the man who charged a Darth in his underwear and hoped for the best?” she teases lightly, hoping he doesn’t take offence. Where did this come from?

He groans, closing his eyes as she touches his implants. “Liss, that was one time okay,” he mutters. “And you’re distracting me.”

She giggles. “Me? Never.”

He hums under his breath, eyes still closed as she plays with his hair. “So, I met Arcann in the bar.”

She can’t help the way she tenses, suddenly worried. That explains the weird emotions Arcann was basically shouting earlier, which was the only way she could have noticed without purposefully looking for him. “What?”

He snorts, keeping his eyes closed. “Love I _felt_ your heartbeat spike then. I promise both that he’s fine and that I did not declare passionate love for him.”

She rolls her eyes, moving her fingers to lightly scratch through his untamed hair. “That seems oddly specific, Theron. Is that a concern I should have?”

He shrugs. “I’ve made worse choices.”

She sighs, leaning forward to kiss him. “Uh-huh,” she answers in amusement, grinning as his eyes open when she pulls back. “Doesn’t he know you’re mine?”

Theron chuckles, hands sliding to her waist. “A latent possessive streak? I mean, if you feel the need to ravish me to prove the point, just say the word. I suppose I’ll just have to be ravished by the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. It’s my burden to bear - but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She giggles, blushing a little as she rubs his nose with hers. “Flatterer,” she says quickly, before sitting back a little. “But I know you, love, and that’s not all. What’s wrong? Why did you really bring that up?”

He opens one eye to glare balefully at her. “Just seems to be a popular opinion around here,” he says casually. “Well perhaps not passionately but-”

“You’re upset about my trying to be friends with him.”

He winces. “Lieca.”

She sighs, trying not to get upset as she loops her arms around his neck. “Alright. Talk to me.”

He huffs. “Love, I-”

“Theron,” she interrupts gently, shifting one hand to cup his face. “Please. If something’s bothering you, I want to know about it,” she says before pinching his nose, smiling lightly. “If I have to talk through what upsets me, so do you.”

He sighs, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment. “Valid call,” he mutters grumpily. “And technically I already spoke about it with Arcann. Weirdly enough. Does that count?”

She hums. “Did it help?” She’s only a little surprised that they spoke - Theron has made his dislike of the former Emperor well known after all.

He nods. “Surprisingly yes.”

She patiently waits for him to elaborate, tapping out a familiar rhythm on his shoulder. He eventually sighs again, bowing his head a little. “I… didn’t really realise how I felt about you guys and this whole ‘ _Force bond_ ’ thing,” he mutters, and her heart feels like it’s being squeezed in her chest. “When he wasn’t here, it was just something that upset you and wasn’t really that helpful, but now that he’s here... it’s just, you know, one more thing I can’t really understand about you. One more way I get left on the outside.”

She immediately snuggles closer, burying her face in his shoulder again and hugging him close. She might be known as a diplomat everywhere else, but with him she’s really not good at her words sometimes. But words aren’t the only way to tell someone how you feel. Theron sometimes seems more comfortable when they’re not talking anyway - he frequently points out that even after all this time she still makes him feel tongue-tied sometimes.

He finally starts to relax against her and she smiles into his shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, it’s not as helpful as you might think love.”

“Hmm?”

She nods. “Well, I definitely did not need to know that he and Calli had sex last night - especially to find out in _that_ way, thank you very much,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

Theron suddenly coughs violently, and she leans back, thumping on his back in concern. “Theron!”

He calms down after a few long moments, his eyes still watering a little. “Sorry. Just startled me a little - not used to you being so blase about it all.”

She flushes. “Theron, we’re _married_. Sex is perfectly normal and healthy and-”

He catches her hands, now amused. “And a pretty fantastic time all around,” he says in a low voice, and she immediately pretends that didn’t send a shiver down her spine.

She tugs one hand free to tuck her hair behind her ear, ignoring his grin at her flustered tell. “Well, I, um... anyway! It’s not the same as the bonds I have with Cera and Nadia. They’re more... natural, I suppose, and we have to concentrate more to... I suppose _activate_ it, rather than suppress it. Arcann and I, we... didn’t get the chance for it to develop naturally - it seems to have sprung up from the trauma we’ve shared, rather than a close relationship. Kinda like your ancestors,” she says brightly.

Theron’s eyebrow rises as he sifts through his memory, and he grunts as he connects the dots. “Revan and Bastila?” he says sarcastically. “Yeah, cause _that_ ended so well.”

She gives him a look. “Not the point love. They are a rare case of it occurring more spontaneously… well, other than Revan’s sister of course.”

“The Jedi Exile, I remember. Lessons with Master Zho featured them a lot.”

She nods. “I don’t really understand it either,” she says eventually. “I, um… I think _he_ had something to do with it too.”

She can feel the way Theron tenses as soon as he understands. “What?”

She gives him a helpless little smile. “Just one more way to try to control me, by tying me to a son he despises. A son he already manipulated into hurting me once. If it hurts Arcann too, more bonus for that monster,” she mutters bitterly.

Theron’s eyes go hard, and she quickly shakes her head, waving her hands around. “No no no, not that I think it’ll work this time! I think it was the shock more than anything, he’s better now!”

He relaxes, catching her hands and bringing them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Alright, I trust you,” he says quietly, and her heart starts to calm down. “I know I was being a little irrational, it’s why I was trying to sulk in private. But, you know, nothing gets past this crew - even the former Emperor of Zakuul was acting worried about me! Enough to make a guy feel pretty special I guess.”

“You are pretty special yes,” she says honestly, smoothing his hair back again. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were upset.”

He shrugs. “I am very good at being overdramatic, or so Jonas says,” he answers dryly. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier.”

She smiles. “Love you.”

He kisses her quickly before leaning back again. “Love you too. I’m a pretty lucky man.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Theron’s console on the far wall suddenly starts beeping a loud emergency signal, and Theron winces as the feedback hits his implants. “Ow!”

Lieca immediately moves her hands up to cover his ears, glaring over at the console for a moment as she tries to focus enough to deactivate the signal with the Force. “Love, are you okay?”

He’s still wincing, though he calms down as the noise stops, smiling gratefully as she starts gently running her thumbs in circles over his temples. “Yeah, sorry. Forgot to shut off the connection earlier,” he says, chuckling wryly as he waits for the obvious ringing in his ears to stop.

She opens her mouth and his golden eyes narrow at her. “Liss, love, I know you tell me every time,” he grumbles, but he’s also still smiling. “I’ll remember one day.”

She sighs, exaggeratedly dropping her shoulders. “I won’t hold my breath then,” she answers softly, taking the sting out of the words by tilting her head to kiss his nose. “What’s the message? If it’s reaching us this early on that broadcast it must be important.”

He’s still grumbling, hands tight on her waist. “But it’s comfy here,” he mumbles, leaning forward enough to bury his face in her neck. “So warm and soft and... you smell really good.”

She giggles, feeling herself blush even though she’s heard those words from him often, and eventually resists enough to push him back, laughing again at the way he kisses her neck and then her fingers when she presses her hand against his nose. “Look, trouble, that’s probably important.”

“ _You’re_ important,” he answers earnestly, casually drawing one of her fingers into his mouth. He smirks as she gasps, but she can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s drawing on his implants to actually check the message. “Huh. That’s weird.”

He releases her hand almost instantly and she feels herself tense at the same time he does. “What is it?” she breathes, her mind already alert and imagining far too many worst case scenarios.

His eyes eventually focus on her again when he stops reading, and his expression makes her heart ache. “Love, that’s an emergency distress signal from the Gravestone.”

She freezes. “What?”

The suddenly far clearer chuckle in her mind tells her that this is about something far more than just the Gravestone.


	37. Family II

Tal’nerra casually twirls his lightsaber hilt around as he stands in the doorway to the Gravestone’s cockpit, smiling slightly as he watches Koth and Raj bantering back and forth in their roles as pilot and co-pilot. The last several days have been relatively quiet, all things considered, although Tal’nerra knows better than to say anything to the techheads back home - if they’re worried, he’s not in a position to say otherwise. But they haven’t really seen anything at all out here on their lonesome, wandering far, far out into the depths of the Unknown Regions and using Saria’s intel to avoid the borders of Ascendancy space; really, it’s been an otherwise boringly routine mission while they keep the Gravestone away from Odessen.

Poor Lieca had been so worried before they left, even after he tried to sit and calm her down. She was so stressed about the Gravestone being a beacon to the Fleet and well, he understands. They might not be blood relations, but her family is his family too. He wants them to be safe as well. The idea of anyone hurting any of his family... it’s unthinkable.

In the end, it had been decided to send the Gravestone off the grid for awhile, and he and Lieca had privately decided for him to go along too - something about his peacekeeping abilities being necessary amongst such an eclectic crew. He had dryly commented that perhaps they were more needed back home with the various families and factions interacting now, and Lieca had laughed and agreed. But he understood that she was worried, and so he happily agreed to come along on this adventure - and in the meantime, Lieca would assign a few others to watch Arcann in his stead.

Hmm. He wonders how _that_ conversation went down. The ex-Emperor’s surly attitude generally just reminded him of the angsting teenagers back on Tython, when he’d been asked to supervise training sessions for the Padawans and the younglings. It evokes strong memories of Cera, in particular, and the elaborate _moods_ that consumed her during her teens - so it was an amusing attitude to witness in a man in his mid-thirties. Emperor, dictator of the galaxy, conqueror of many of the known worlds - and grumpy child when forced to interact in a polite social situation with others.

Alright, perhaps Arcann’s sulky attitude was somewhat justified - he had gone from Emperor of the Galaxy (or whatever he called himself, honestly) to Random Disliked Nobody. But Random Disliked Nobody with a loving family and kind support network and a roof over his head and good food.

Half the galaxy or more is baying for his head, and it’s a Force-damned miracle that they’ve managed to avoid the various calls for Arcann to stand trial as a war criminal - certainly, the fact that his sister still retains an iron grip on the throne seems to be deterring most of their more vocal opponents from pressing too hard. None of that, however, has seemed to make a difference in regards to Arcann’s petulant manner, and he’s not quite sure what the fuss is all about. It’s certainly far more than Arcann could expect from anyone else without Lieca’s heart of gold, and it’s hardly a secret that half of the Alliance would gladly hand him over without a backwards glance to the first willing set of hands. Surely that would endear more positive feelings in the man, at least enough to make him guilty enough to feign politeness.

Frankly, he could certainly do without the stress it’s all causing to Lieca. The poor girl has suffered more than enough after all. Force knows he’s spent most of his life worrying about the Amell twins, so what’s another few worries on top of that. The little sisters he never had and never knew he wanted, yet he can’t imagine his life without them - he just wants good things for them both.

Perhaps Arcann will learn to appreciate what he has sooner rather than later.

... preferably before Calli tries to beat his head in with her shotgun.

He shakes his head, amused despite himself. He has never really understood what could inspire someone to those levels of, ah, _passion_ , but far be it for him to say anything disparaging. It’s not his place after all, and as long as they don’t upset Lieca further, it’s fine. Callistra is a fine young woman with her own strength, and a great number of people ready to stand in defence of her- she doesn’t need a casual acquaintance involving himself in her affairs and embarrassing her. Let the two of them sort it out in their own time, hopefully without scarring any of the children in the process. He’s seen the eyes they make at each other - he’s a Jedi, but he’s not blind.

Raised voices in the cockpit drag him from his contemplations, and he fumbles the catch of his lightsaber hilt, sighing as it clatters to the floor. Thankfully the two pilots - who seem to be arguing passionately over some sort of dangerous piloting maneuver, judging from Raj’s elaborate hand gestures and Koth’s breathless laughter - don’t seem to notice as he stoops to collect up the fallen hilt. His knees crack slightly, and he winces; he’s not old, not really, but he has lived through multiple wars and as far as Jedi go...

... okay, yeah, as far as Jedi go, he’s probably getting old. What peers he had after the destruction of the Jedi Temple at the end of the Great War were thinned further when the hostilies renewed ten years later - and those that survived that long didn’t stand much of a chance against Zakuul.

As if to further aggravate his wounded pride, Koth and Raj seem to have unintentionally slipped into Zakuulan, and although he’s quite passable with the language - the joys of twi’lek neural elasticity, and their ability to retain languages in a remarkably short time compared to humans - he’s definitely not fluent, especially with the changed inflections of the other two men. Today it just feels a little bit like a reminder of his age, and his growing... irrelevance? No, that’s not the right word, but he’s not sure what is.

Once upon a time he would have eagerly thrown himself into the challenge of mastering Zakuulan, spending time with native speakers and refusing to speak in Basic or any other common language until he had the language perfected. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have felt his knees ache just from bending down, and he wouldn’t have been so slow in his reflexes that he would have fumbled a standard grip reverse.

He feels a little... supplementary, perhaps that’s the word he wants. Not unwanted, certainly he is not so morose as to think that. But he can certainly feel that he is an extra in all of these proceedings, just a body to fill the space - but that in itself is contradictory, because where before he was mildly frustrated at himself for remaining on Odessen while others took risks for the Alliance and for their safety, now that he is actually on a mission, actively taking part in protecting the many innocents on their secret base, now it feels again like he’s been bumped along just to fill space.

He sighs and shakes his head, lekku falling over his shoulder, and turns to leave the loved-up pilots to their argument. If he’s reading them correctly, they are about to move into something he’s significantly less comfortable witnessing, even if it is just them staring dreamily into each other’s eyes. Those are private moments after all.

If nothing else, it’s been mildly amusing, being surrounded by so many younger couples on this trip - and he can’t rule out that some of Koth’s Gravestone crew might be involved in dalliances either, from some of the trysts he’s accidentally interrupted these past few weeks. He’s always been good at observing people, at reading and analysing their emotions and feelings - part of the reason he was assigned to the Amell sisters all those years ago - and apparent from interrupting several nookie sessions, it’s definitely a nice change of pace from the dramatics that have consumed Odessen these last few months.

Ah, well. He’s being useful, if nothing else, and if it gives Lieca greater peace of mind to have him accompanying the more, ah, volatile personalities on the Gravestone to help temper any arguments that might arise, he’s more than happy to do that. Lady Jezhara was perhaps the only one who might be inclined to instigate trouble for the sake of it, but after a few sparring matches in the largest cargo hold, he thinks that might be a little more under control. He’s not particularly interested in the usual Sith/Jedi rivalries at this point in his life - as long as someone leaves his people alone, he doesn’t particularly mind what they do.

The one surprise of the otherwise mundane voyage was having Torian offer to join him for his meditations and his exercises - it wasn’t exactly what he had expected from a Mandalorian, reminding him that perhaps some of his prejudices run a bit deeper than he would think. Luckily they had enough practice staves for him to spar with the younger man as well. He really does need to practice with staves as opposed to lightsabers more often, it’s certainly a different method of thinking and moving; the versatility and weightlessness of a lightsaber blade is all well and good, but sometimes the heft of a staff and the weight that can drive a strike is a far better work out for the body.

He bumps into T7 shortly after leaving the cockpit, smiling down at Cera’s faithful little droid. “Hello Teeseven, what brings you here? Have you and Holiday had any luck with those strange frequencies?”

T7 whistles up at him and he chuckles, crouching down in front of the droid. “Or are you just trying to avoid all these loved-up couples too?” he says cheerfully, smiling wider at T7’s response.

But then his smile falters as he attempts to interpret one particular phrase; he might not be able to speak in Binary, but he can certainly understand it adequately, and there was one phrase in that jumble that doesn’t quite make sense. “Wait, the Dark Sanctuary? Is that what you said?”

T7 beeps, sounding almost offended.

Tal’nerra sighs. “I wasn’t doubting you, Teeseven,” he says wearily. “But first the _Gravestone_ , and now the _Dark Sanctuary_? No wonder Lieca doesn’t like this ship very much. Those are rather ominous names.”

T7’s next beeps sound sad, and Tal’nerra reaches up to gently pat the top of the droid. “Don’t worry little guy, Lieca isn’t upset with you. She actually told me how pleased she was that you were being such a big help to us. And if you and your pink best friend are seeing weird activity down there, we better go check it out.”

T7 rocks side to side rather cheerfully, all things considered, and Tal’nerra smiles after the droid as T7 starts to leave, standing up and dusting his pants off. “This ship is such a minefield,” he mutters to himself as they move.

The Dark Sanctuary - who named it, honestly? Did this ship come with convenient labels on all the doors, or did someone decide that the ominous circular chamber in the centre of the ship needed to be _more_ unsettling - isn’t the most pleasant place to visit at the best of times, and he’s made a point not to spend more time than is absolutely necessary in there. He eyes the elevator leerily as he and T7 head through the hallway, but they don’t make it quite as far as the bridge as he’d assumed. Considering the vague unease he’s feeling, he’s not entirely surprised - but certainly dismayed - to hear the main console beeping as they pass through the common room, the large communal space where they all take their meals and have furnished with comfortable couches and tables. It’s got a holo terminal that most people use to keep in touch with their families and friends, but for the duration of this voyage, it’s been studiously turned off to maintain radio silence.

Until now.

He circles the holo terminal cautiously, half expecting the sight before him to be a trick; it’s not unusual for sailors to speak of prolonged voyages into Deep Space playing tricks on the mind, the silence between the stars enough to drive a being to madness. The flickering blue of the image is certainly enough to conjure up fantastical notions of corrupted creatures lurking in the deep dark, but the truth is far more mundane than that. “Theron?” he asks hesitantly, unsure whether it’s truly him, or just a recording. “Is that you?”

The fuzzy blue of the hologram can’t quite hide Theron’s annoyed expression. _“What, have I grown lekku or something?”_ he asks irritably.

Tal decides against pointing out the vaguely racist tones to the statement, and instead asks “What are you doing awake? It’s got to be at least two in the morning on Odessen - is something wrong?”

_“You tell me, Tal. We’re getting a massive spike of emergency readings from the Gravestone. You guys okay over there?”_

Tal’nerra blinks in confusion, looking down at T7. “None of us made the call that I know of,” he starts uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

Theron frowns. _“Yeah, of course. The ringing in my head certainly wasn’t imaginary.”_

“Well, I’m sorry for the discomfort it caused you, Shan, but I can assure you that everything is well here. I think the closest thing we’ve had to a problem would be the Zakuulan snack food being on limited rations.”

Lieca suddenly appears over Theron’s shoulder, leaning against him, and it’s a sign of how distressed she must be that she didn’t bother to pull on her dressing gown before making the call, since she’s still casually dressed in her sleepwear. _“Is everyone alright?”_ she asks, her hair thrown back in a quick and messy braid.

He nods. “Yes Lieca, we’re all fine here,” he says, before pausing. “Why did you call on the lounge holo instead of hailing the bridge?”

Theron grunts. _“You guys have wandered pretty far out of conventional signal range,”_ he says. _“It was hard even getting this to connect - I tried the bridge three times without luck.”_

“Huh,” he says, not technologically minded enough to offer anything intelligent to the conversation. “I was just on the bridge earlier, I’ll let Captains Vortena and Politryk know that the equipment might need fine tuning.”

Lieca stifles a yawn politely behind her hand. _“It’s fine, it’s fine,”_ she says, waving absently to him. _“As long as nothing is amiss - we were just worried.”_

He hesitates. “Well,” he starts slowly, “it might be nothing, but Teeseven was picking up some strange readings earlier - apparently they discovered some odd signals in that Dark Sanctuary?”

Lieca stills, and he hates the distressed look on her face - from the worried expression on his own face, Theron hates it too. _“The Dark Sanctuary? Oh… do you have any idea what the signals are?”_

T7 trills to get their attention, rocking side to side in haste, and they all look down at the droid. Theron answers first, clearly uncertain. _“Really? Well, if you’re sure…”_

Lieca smiles at T7, seeming a little more relaxed. _“Don’t worry Teeseven, I trust you. If you think it can wait, it can. I’ll ask the others to connect up in the morning, I’m sure Calli will be happy to help.”_

T7 beeps happily, and after a few more reassurances and pleasantries, the couple hangs up, and Tal’nerra rounds on the droid. “Your ability to lie is increasing by the day,” he says suspiciously, crouching down again to playfully nudge the droid. “What’s going on Teeseven?”

T7’s beeping only gets more insistent and Tal’nerra sighs. “I suppose we are supposed to be playing bait… but I do wish it wasn’t so literal.”

T7 seems vaguely disgruntled, rolling forward to bump his knee softly.

Tal’nerra frowns. “Wait, what’s an Iokath?”

 

* * *

 

Calli is still yawning even as she twists the wires of the bracelet she’s trying to put together. _She_ was smart enough to have her link to the Gravestone disconnected while they were literally playing bait - unlike her idiotic brother-in-law ( _ugh_ ) - which meant she relied on Holiday to pass news on if it was super urgent. And the supposedly fake emergency signal wasn’t entirely urgent on its own, but Lieca has been in a state since it happened, so off the slicing team went at way-too-early-to-be-awake o’clock.

And they had found, exactly as Tal’nerra had said to the worried lovebirds earlier, precisely _nothing_. No signs of override, no tracking signals, no indication that the heavy duty firewalls she and the rest of the slicing team painstakingly constructed had been breached or even tested. At least Theron was inflicted with early slicing duty too, as penance for his panic - and at least it meant she was awake early enough to nab the first chocolate croissants at breakfast, still warm and gooey from the ovens, so a partial win there. She can just nap this afternoon if she needs to. Mmm, sleep.

But that just means she needs something to do until then.

Something to dooooo... someone?

_No!_

Preferably some _thing_ to do that doesn’t involve thinking about Arcann and how fucking amazing it was to have sex with him again. Why is that jerk so good at sex? It’s _unfair_! The universe is really just laughing at her at this point. Fucking good fuck, she’s so mad. And a tiny bit sexually frustrated.

Okay, maybe a _lot_ sexually frustrated. It hasn’t even been two days and she’s already had to break out the friend-with-batteries at least once, cursing herself out the entire time. But damnit, it felt so good and, well, it was just sex anyway. Anyone who liked sex could get behind that. Couple of orgasms, bit of stress relief - done, and move on. Just like every other time, right? She just happened to find someone who was worth a repeat performance, and hey, maybe she just wanted to test what it was like when she could see his face, and his body, and... hmm. Come to think of it, she didn’t get to see anything. That’s not fair!

Next time, definitely getting his clothes off.

Wait, why is thinking of another time? That was just once. One drunken night to act on her lust and well, it’s done now. Right?

Arcann certainly couldn’t expect anything else. He obviously didn’t want more - never has really, with anyone. The gossip mags back on Zakuul had so much trash about him and his multiple conquests that at least some of it had to be true - and judging from his attitude the night of the party when they first met, she’s gonna go with close-to-most of it had to be true.

If he could have sex with anyone and everyone whenever he wanted, why in Corellia’s seven hells would he want her?

Hrmph. Less bitterness, more distractions. _Focus_ , Calli!

In the end, after stuffing a chocolate croissant in her mouth and another in her pocket, a very large caf balanced in the other hand, she retreated to the empty common room in the middle of all the family apartments, indulging herself in the old comfort of jewellery making. It had originally just been a hastily learned habit to provide shoddy cover for her and Bowie being on Zakuul - but eventually she got quite good at it. And there’s lots of things she doesn’t miss about Zakuul, but her jewellery making isn’t one of them. There’s something fascinating about making things with her own hands: real, tangible things that are beautiful and she can touch and use to make someone else happy.

It’s a hobby she’s surprised to realise how much she missed, so wrapped up in everything else that she barely had time to even think about it, and with the morning sun casting deliciously warm beams across the room, and a caf and a croissant on hand, it’s not long before she’s totally absorbed in old habits.

She’s focusing on applying her little blowtorch to a particularly delicate seam when she realises that a pair of big brown eyes are watching her intently, and she almost drops the torch in surprise. “Flissa! _Aivela_ , don’t startle me!”

Flissa jumps backwards, eyes widening. “Sorry Aunty Calli!” she says quickly, looking mortified.

Calli shakes her head, carefully switching the safety switch on the torch and placing it where it won’t be in the way, and turning her full attention to her niece. “Honey it’s okay, I just didn’t want to hurt you. Don’t sneak up on me when I’m handling fire okay?”

Flissa nods, wide eyes looking with interest at the array of items on the table in front of Calli. “Whataya doing?” she asks curiously.

Calli looks from her jewellery to her niece and back again, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just... making stuff,” she says weakly.

Flissa raises her eyebrow, looking so much like her mother that Calli smiles a little. “Looks like jewellery, Aunty Calli. Or are you gonna call it _‘sparkly stuff’_?”

Calli sighs. “You sass like your other aunt,” she mutters, quickly moving the wire before it cools or before curious little fingers can poke it and burn themselves. “But it’s really not that interesting, hun.”

Flissa leans back a little, her elbows no longer propper up on the caf table Calli is using as a workbench. “It looks fun to me,” she says quietly. “I... wanted to see.”

That tone of voice never bodes well for Amell women, and it’s obvious that something is bothering the little girl. She fumbles awkwardly for a moment, before deciding to go with what would make her feel better - address the situation, but don’t scare her off. “You okay Fliss?” she asks gently, pricking her finger slightly on the sharp point of the rough frame she’s building.

Since she’s not looking at her, she can only tell she’s shaking her head by the clink of the beads Felix was weaving into her hair over breakfast yesterday. “Mama’s not feeling well,” Flissa answers sulkily. “And I didn’t want to annoy her. And Papa was in a meeting today with Mister Admiral Aygo. And there’s no classes today, but I’m _bored_. Everybody is doing something but me.”

There’s a faint hint of _‘nobody wants me around’_ that Calli knows all too well, and she puts the empty necklace frame down on the table, cautiously looking at the girl still sitting across from her. “You sure this isn’t boring?” she asks.

Flissa shakes her head again. “No!” she says quickly, before looking at the ground, suddenly shy.

“Flissa?”

Flissa doesn’t look up, her words fast enough to almost jumble together as they tumble out of her mouth. “You’re so busy since you came back and I don’t get to see you much and Mama says family is very important and I wanted to spend time with you cause I don’t really know you anymore and I was a baby when you went away and now I’m grown up and that’s not fair and you seem sad sometimes and I wanna help and now-I’m-here-is-this-okay?”

Calli blinks, surprised to realise she’s almost blinking back tears. Gods, trust Lieca’s daughter to be the one determined to bring her into things - she’s as soft-hearted as her mother.

When she doesn’t respond immediately, Flissa winces like she’s expecting to be scolded, and it makes her heart ache. “If... if you’re sure, honey,” Calli says quickly, throat absolutely not closing a bit. She’s not going to make Flissa feel bad for asking, of course not. “I always love having you around.”

Flissa beams at her, instantly cheered up, before her expression fades again, cocking her head to the side curiously. “Aunty Calli, are you going to cry?” she asks matter-of-factly.

Calli blinks again, her eyelashes definitely not holding back the tears. “I’m not crying,” she mutters, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand.

Flissa frowns. “Do you want a hug? That’s what Mama always does when I’m sad.”

She loves the casual affection of children sometimes. “A hug would be nice,” she says lamely, and before she can even blink again, her arms are full with her lovely niece, small brown arms around her waist while Flissa snuggles into her shoulder.

She didn’t realise how much she needed a hug, and Flissa is so cuddly. Eventually Flissa wriggles around in her lap to face the table, clearly still fascinated by the jewellery. “So! What’s all this?”

Calli shakes her head in amusement at the change of tone, leaning forward to kiss Flissa’s hair. “Oh I see, she _pretends_ she wants hugs but _actually_ just wants to get at my jewellery!”

“Aunty Caaaaalli,” she responds, twisting back to glare at her for a moment.

Calli chuckles. “Fine, fine. I’m making jewellery. I haven’t done it for awhile, and I kinda missed it.”

Flissa looks forward again, poking the small box of beads nearby. “Why not?”

“Guess I just haven’t had time, honey. Thing have been pretty busy since Zakuul.”

Flissa clicks her tongue. “Zakuul? Did you only make jewellery while you were away?”

She nods, humming under her breath since Flissa can’t see her. “Mmm. Your Aunt taught me some of it, and then I learned the rest. It was pretty fun, but a lot of work too. Had to do something to earn some money while we lived there.”

Flissa is silent for a long while, still playing with the beads, and Calli reaches around her to start threading the necklace again, waiting for her to ask whatever’s bothering her; she nudges a length of wire into Flissa’s hands, showing her how to slide the beads onto it to make her own bracelet, and for a time they sit in silence, each enthralled in their work. But eventually Flissa speaks again, and the question surprises her. “What was Zakuul like?”

Calli hums again. “What?”

Flissa wriggles out of her arms to sit beside her, expression curious. “Zakuul! Mama says I’m not allowed to go there, but what’s it like? Was it really bad there?”

Calli frowns. “Why do you think it’s bad, honey?”

Flissa frowns back. “Mama was asleep there and it makes her sad, and it makes you sad too,” she says quietly, before wrinkling her nose. “And Arcann’s from Zakuul. I don’t like him. Why do you like him?”

Oh boy. Those were questions she absolutely did not expect, and her traitorous heart beats a little faster in her chest. She doesn’t _like_ Arcann, he’s just really good at sex and she’s absolutely not going to explain that to her nine-year-old niece. So, ignoring Arcann and focusing on Zakuul it is. Hopefully she can tone it all down to a child level. “There was lots of things I didn’t like about Zakuul,” Calli admits honestly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s very different from lots of places I’ve lived. And it was a little scary sometimes too, like it is when you don’t know what something’s going to be like.”

Flissa’s eyes are wide and she smiles to reassure her. “Of course, I had Bowdaar too. He looked after me and made sure I was safe.”

Flissa beams. “Bowdaar gives good hugs, I like him.”

She nods sagely. “Bowie gives the best hugs, it’s true. All warm and snuggly.”

Flissa giggles. “The best! But tell me more things! Nobody else lived there, they don’t _know_.”

Calli blanks a little, reaching for her jewellery again to have something to do with her hands. “Like what?”

Flissa blows her hair off her forehead. “Anything! Like food, or holidays, or statues, or do they have a zoo? Did you go? Was it _amazing?_ ”

Calli blinks in surprise. “A zoo?”

Flissa nods, looking impatient. “A zoo, Aunty Calli! With cool animals and shows and cute fluffy baby animals and popcorn and maple donuts!”

Calli chuckles. “Okay, first of all honey, you know maple donuts aren’t everywhere, right? That’s Alderaan. Zakuul doesn’t have maple trees, they can’t get the syrup - or at least if they did, it was only the rich people that had it. Not us underworld types.”

Flissa gives her a look. “Uncle Geralt says that doesn’t count, he can get anything he wants cause he’s a _smuggler_ ,” she says, eyes wide. “He always has maple candies in his pockets. And Aunty Risha’s favourite chocolates. And then he holds out his hand and it’s empty but then there’s a chocolate there and how does he do it, Calli?”

Calli smiles. “A magician never reveals his secrets Fliss,” she says mysteriously, making Flissa giggle. “You know that. Does he also pull treats from behind your ear?”

Flissa nods. “Yeah! And I checked and they’re not there first so I think he’s being sneaky,” she says, before dropping her voice. “He was trying to teach Daddy, but I saw the treat in Daddy’s hand before he moved to my ear. I think Uncle Geralt is just magic.”

Calli nods sagely. “Mm-hmm. Never play cards with your uncle. He cheats.”

Flissa nods back. “Mama says that too. Theron says he can beat him if he wants to, but Mama just smiles and kisses him. Bleh! Grown-ups are _weird_.”

“Kisses aren’t that bad,” she answers absently, before freezing. So much for not thinking about Arcann, _fuck_. Why does someone who’s so Esne-damned- _annoying_ have to be so good with his mouth? “Well, um, depends on who you’re kissing and... wow. Just don’t worry about that til you’re older, okay hun?”

Flissa raises her eyebrow, her nose crinkled up to give a fairly clear indication of what she thinks about kisses. “Okaaaaay,” she starts suspiciously. “So, _did_ you go to the zoo? What do Zakuulans eat at the zoo then? Is it the pappocas that Mister Koth likes? Ooh ooh, was it the sweet ones or just the chili ones? The sweet ones are my favourites!”

Calli laughs, relieved that the topic of kissing could be so easily diverted by the topic of sweets and baby animals. “Zakuulans eat lots of spicy food Fliss - I’m not surprised you like their snacks. I didn’t like a lot of their traditional food very much, but there’s so many different types it was easy to find something. They eat lots of seafood too - do you like fish?”

Flissa beams. “I like fish! But I don’t like it in soup, I like grilled fish. Uncle Archie makes tasty fish sometimes. What about sweets? What do Zakuulans eat? Mister Koth says they like pralines and flaky pastries, is that true?”

Calli nods absently, finally abandoning her work. “Praline candies are pretty common there. And considering I bet you have your Mama’s sweet tooth, you’d like lots of their desserts. They have lots of tasty foods. And the festivals were always pretty fun, all light and colour and music and the smell of all the food in the air. All the pretty lanterns and sparkling confetti and spun sugar. Bowie always gave me a boost to collect the prettiest lantern I could find.”

Flissa gasps. “He is pretty tall. I bet he could reach anything!”

Calli laughs. “Yes baby, he can. He even helped me stea-uh- _borrow_ one of the signs from the zoo. We used to collect things from all the places we went to, my room was full of them. I brought some of them back with me, but my jewellery was more important. Just more presents for the next person to live in our house.”

Flissa goes quiet for a moment, as though trying to imagine the scene. Calli doesn’t mind, as it gives her more time to think about Zakuul. She tries not to think about it much, how angry and hurt it made her - it’s good to focus on the happier memories too.

“Aunty Calli?”

“Mmm?”

“If Zakuul is so nice... why is Arcann so mean to everyone?”

She starts, her head jerking up to face her niece, who looks a little shy again before she keeps talking. “Mama wants to help him, but Mama wants to help everyone, and if he’s good now why was he so mean before and why do you like him?”

Okay, well. “Um, first of all I don’t like him.”

“But I heard Uncle Geralt say that you _kissed_ him.” She makes a retching noise, in the manner of all little children when faced with the prospect of romance, sticking a finger into her mouth to complete the delightful image of uncontrollable vomiting.

Clearly the universe has decided she hasn’t caught enough flak for this, because now she’s being trolled by a nine-year-old; her face is quite literally on fire now. “Well, um, yes, I did kiss him-”

“Gross!”

“Kissing is very nice sometimes?”

“But with _Arcann?_ ” More gagging noises follow.

She’s literally going to die of mortification any moment now. “Well, you see, maybe he’s pleasant enough sometimes, but I don’t _like like_ him and... oh boy.”

“You _kiss_ someone you don’t _like?_ ”

One thousand percent outside of her comfort zone right now. If she has to explain to her niece the concept of one night stands, she’s going to die. “I like him, um, sort of. I like him enough.” Face literally melting off of her skull right now from the heat of her embarrassment. “Um. Anyway. Sweetie, I don’t know if I’m the best one to talk to you about this,” she flounders helplessly.

Flissa frowns, finally relenting on the fake vomit noises. “But he likes you best Aunty Calli, you have to know him at least a little. Does he not like kissing you? I don’t understand.”

Oh fuckity fuck. Also, likes her best? What the fuck? How is she supposed to defend Arcann to a child? Does he even deserve her defence? Is the soft way he looks at Thexan and his family worth defending? He hasn’t tried to hurt any of them since Alderaan and stays out of the way, and from Lieca’s reports seems to be trying to help people now in the ways that he can, but is that enough?

Flissa’s expression shifts, and to Calli’s surprise she moves back over to hug her again. “He seems nice enough now,” Flissa mumbles into her shoulder. “He makes Mister Thexan happy and Anya loves him. And he helps Mama with her healing now that she’s tired so much.”

Flissa then pulls back a little to look into her face. “But he makes you sad, Aunty Calli. You get sad when you talk about him. And he locked Mama away. And he hurt her. And, and… people don’t talk about it, but I know he did lots of bad things to lots of people. Is he a Sith?”

Definitely not the subject matter Calli was expecting from this conversation, oh dear. She tucks her hair behind her ear, taking a deep breath. No matter what _she_ feels about Arcann, she can’t be the one to decide how a child feels about him - especially not a child who has such a personal stake in the matter, a child who has been very personally hurt by the inconsiderate actions Arcann has taken over the last five or six years. It’s not Flissa’s fault that she felt used, and it’s not her call to make on whether he’s overall an okay person just because he treats his sexual partners badly after the fact.

Deep breaths.

“Okay,” she says slowly, “um, well, it’s true that he wasn’t very nice before. And he did do a lot of awful things to a lot of people. I don’t... I don’t understand good and evil like you Force user types, all the philosophy about the light and the dark that they teach you. People are just... people. We all live and love and breathe and fight and die just the same, and even if all around you, there’s only darkness, you can still make a choice to hold up a light and make it better for other people.”

She takes another deep breath. “I can’t be the one to decide what someone _‘deserves’_ from everyone else, because everyone deserves to make their own decisions, and - you know what? Everyone has a right to be mad. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t have a right to be mad.”

“Master Satele says that _‘we shouldn’t let anger dwell in our hearts’,_ ” Flissa says, clearly repeating something she’s heard and memorised by rote.

Calli pulls a face. “Look, hun, the Jedi are all fancy and shit with their magic powers, but sometimes? Sometimes anger is really good for you. Sometimes being angry keeps you alive when nothing else does.”

“So I _should_ be angry with Arcann?”

She sighs. “That’s not- no. I don’t think you _should_ be angry at Arcann just because everyone expects you to be. But if you _are_ angry with him, that’s okay too.”

Flissa sighs extravagantly in response, picking at the beads almost sullenly. “I dunno,” she says, the pout evident in her voice even if her hair hides her pretty face.

“I think what matters is what a person is _trying_ to do, if they’re trying to help people. And sometimes… people can change. All we can do is give them a chance, if we think they can.”

Flissa glances at her dubiously, her expression unconvinced, and Calli smiles. “Uncle Geralt wasn’t very nice when he was younger,” she says, pointedly trying not to snicker under her breath at how mundane a description that is for the egotistical asshole Geralt had been fifteen years ago. “He was a bit of a brat, acted like he didn’t really care about people. But then he met your Aunty Risha and he straightened out a bit. He tried really hard to be a better person. Same with Doc. He was a bit of a jerk when he met Cera, but she helped him grow up a bit and start taking things more seriously.”

She reaches up to smooth Flissa’s hair back, slightly amused at how she’s describing the partners of so many important people in her life. “Thexan was the same,” she continues quietly. “He wasn’t as bad as Arcann, because he wasn’t in charge like Arcann was - but he still wasn’t a very nice person until he met Ona’la. He hurt a lot of people too. But she gave him a chance and he learned to become a better person. And he’s going to be trying to make up for his mistakes for the rest of his life. But he’s _choosing_ to do that, _choosing_ to be better.”

Flissa makes a noise under her breath that sounds almost exactly like Felix. “So you think we need to give Arcann a chance and he might be nicer?”

Well, _she_ doesn’t think so, but it’s not her call to make for Flissa. “Your Mama believes that he’s changing but... Flissa, only you can decide that. You’re a smart girl, you can see his actions and decide for yourself if you think he’s changing to be a better person. You don’t need me to tell you.”

Flissa considers for a moment before nodding sagely. “Hmm. Okay.” In a split second she’s on her feet, hands on her hips as she stands authoritatively over her. “But if he hurts you or Mama I’ll help someone kick his butt!” she says gleefully.

Calli snorts. “You’re just saying that because you know I can’t scold you for bad language,” she answers dryly, trying not to let on how emotional that declaration makes her.

Flissa grins cheekily. “Mama says you have the worst potty-mouth,” she says primly, which quickly dissolves into giggles when Calli starts tickling her.

Maybe she doesn’t know what to do with Arcann. Maybe she doesn’t like like him.

But maybe she can start to take her own advice?

 

* * *

 

It’s several hours past a respectable sleeping time that Arcann realises that the persistent gnawing he can feel in his body is actually hunger, and he’s already groaning even as he rolls onto his back.

He didn’t _mean_ to skip dinner, but he had lunch so late and then got caught up with reports and training and then a long nap that he basically… forgot. And desperately trying to ward off nightmares about his father had distracted him even further. He doesn’t know if they’re coming from his own mind or Lieca’s - given her confession that he was gaining in strength again - but he certainly does not like them.

At least it’s some variety from the nightmares of Thexan he experienced for years. In the dark of the night, it’s still incredibly surreal how easily Thexan has welcomed him back into his life - Force knows he doesn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t deserve _any_ of this.

He shakes his head to clear it, trying to focus on his stomach again for a moment to ward off his darker thoughts. The most annoying thing about it all is that he probably can’t get any food anyway. If he remembers correctly, Thexan had previously said that Alliance members could use the kitchens outside of normal eating hours. However, that requires some level of skill with food preparation. He was a former _Emperor_ , as if he had any idea how to prepare food! He had _people_ for that!

... it sounds far more pathetic now, as he contemplates going hungry to avoid the humiliating circumstance of locating the foodstuffs but then having no capability of actually preparing it for edible consumption. Poor little Arcann, can’t even feed himself. _Ugh_.

Perhaps a walk to clear his thoughts instead? That might help distract his brain from food.

_Don’t think about Father._

He rolls out of bed, blindly stretching out to call his shirt into his hands. His Zakuulan armour is not necessary to walk around at night, no matter how vulnerable he feels without it. It is far too early for even the usual antagonists to even be awake, let alone waiting in the halls to insult him. He will be fine, walking around like this.

He _will_ be fine.

Loose shirt, loose pants, some sort of strange slipper things, and at the last minute the strange wrap similar to the one Thexan was wearing yesterday. A... ponco? Phonco? Foncho? Whatever it was, it added a degree of warmth that was certainly needed in these cold underground halls. However did these people survive without rigid and carefully maintained temperature restrictions? Sometimes he really does miss the palace. Nobody there cared if he wandered at night either.

A full night’s rest isn’t something he’s used to, after all. There haven’t been many since Korriban - though it is nice that his arm and its’ phantom pains isn’t what’s keeping him awake for a change. He never intends to tell Dia’ayla that though - it’s not necessary for her to know how easily he is adapting to an arm that was actually made for him. As opposed to whatever the soldiers found hastily on the battlefield at the time, that he was then too stubborn to replace - his ruined arm had become a reminder of what he’d lost, and the punishment given for disobeying his father.

But seeing how happy Lieca and her family are - perhaps he should have been disobeying his father long before that. How much else in his life did Valkorion keep from him? How much time has he wasted on trying to obtain the approval of a man who clearly despised him, who seemed to revel in his suffering? How much time has he wasted trying desperately to be in control of situations through countless acts of murder and hatred?

He nearly killed Lieca, and she still smiles at him softly and tells him he’s doing well with his healing, and he has to desperately swallow past the lump in his throat. No-one besides Thexan has ever told him he was doing well and meant it. Certainly never people who were once his enemies.

What is he even doing with his life anymore? What was he ever doing with it?

He has been wandering around relatively aimlessly for quite some time - he’s not really sure how long, his internal clock has never been accurate at the best of times - when his blood runs cold at the sudden warning through the Force, and he recognises the strange sensation he feels as the knowledge that someone is stealthed nearby.

Who would even be stealthed here, in the middle of the night? It cannot mean anything good, that is for certain. Are they here for him? For someone else? What is he supposed to do?

He strains his senses to try to locate the fugitive, hoping they do not notice him before he finds them. Perhaps he can take them by surprise if he’s fast enough - even technically unarmed, he still has the Force. It takes a lot more than a lack of lightsaber to overpower him. He is the son of a God-Killer, he is not so easily defeated.

Wait, is there two of them?

Any glimmer of pride he feels at finally detecting the individuals in stealth at the end of the hall is cut off by the sensation of his heart leaping out of his chest at the sudden warcry of _“UNCLE ARCANN!”_.

He might have flinched at the outburst of noise, just maybe, eyes widening in a probably comical manner. Whatever he had been expecting, it was definitely not that.

The stealth field suddenly deactivates to show a clearly surprised Calli - her own eyes wide and cheeks flushed - and a clearly pleased Anya sitting on her shoulders. Before he can even say anything, or try to calm his racing heart, his little niece scrambles down Calli’s side and bounds over to him, clearly ecstatic despite the fact it’s past midnight. What do Thexan and Ona’la even feed this child, how is she _always_ so energetic? “Why are you awake!” Anya shouts, less accusation and more curious, but sheer volume makes him wince again anyway.

“I... could not sleep,” he admits, trying to make himself calm down, and his shock admittedly making his tone harsher than he planned. “Why are _you_ awake?”

Anya bounces on her feet, little lekku twitching with the movement. “I was hungry,” she admits after a moment, glancing back at Calli, who still looks nervous as she walks over to them at a far slower speed than her tiny companion. “Miss Calli is going to get some food for me!”

He looks at Calli in confusion, and she sighs. “Little Miss Troublemaker here likes midnight snacks,” she says dryly.

Anya frowns, moving over to tug on Calli’s hand. “Miss Calli, _you_ said _you_ liked midnight snacks,” she says accusingly.

Calli blinks, her cheeks still a bit pink, but nods. “Okay, so I might be hungry too,” she answers warmly, before turning back to look at him, tone instantly more suspicious. “Why are you awake?”

He wishes he could stop being so surprised at her presence. After their night together, she had avoided him all of yesterday - perhaps he was being dramatic, but it certainly _felt_ like she was avoiding him - but then he kept seeing her all throughout the day, trying not to jump every time he saw her. He’s not an idiot, he knows that whatever there was between them was fleeting, the same as every other lover who crossed his threshold. He has never wanted more, never expected more.

But he’s also never _wanted_ the same person more than once, and that feels important, somehow. Was it just because she turned from his side so easily that first night? Fleeing to her home without a care for his feelings or wants? Not that he had them, of course, but... what if he had? She didn’t even give him a chance to find out, and the sensation he feels at that is still strange.

And the same again, that second night. Leaving in the morning before he could determine what he wanted, _if_ he wanted. Treating him as he’d treated his own previous partners, as though there was nothing else to worry about. They had sex, they enjoyed it, and she ran back to her family without consulting him.

Assuring him that she wanted him, and then walking away so easily. How can he even believe that?

Why does he _want_ to believe that?

... perhaps not the appropriate thoughts to be having with his tiny niece standing between them. At least Calli is wearing long pants tonight, rather than the tiny shorts he saw in his dreams the night after they met on the roof.

… focus, Arcann. “I could not sleep,” he says tightly. “I decided a walk would help.”

His body’s betrayal of him is apparently not quite complete as his stomach suddenly rebels and gurgles loudly in the silence. Calli’s expression shifts and he’s fairly certain she’s about to laugh - he almost wishes she would actually laugh, as much as he feels like dying on the spot. Her genuine laughter is so nice to listen to, rather than the harsh chuckles she makes when she’s upset.

Anya also stares at him, reaching up to poke his belly. “Is there a dragon in there?” she asks suspiciously.

Calli does giggle at that, one hand over her mouth, and he glares at her, trying to stop his stomach rumbling through sheer willpower. “Honey, I think your uncle is just hungry too,” she says patiently, running her hand over Anya’s little lekku before her expression turns sly. “Maybe he got lost and took a wrong turn instead of going to the kitchens.”

Anya gasps. “Did you get lost Uncle Arcann?”

He frowns, folding his arms. “I am not lost,” he grumbles. “I was not going to the kitchens, I was walking.”

Calli looks at him oddly for a moment. “You know, you are allowed to eat outside of the normal hours,” she says eventually, head tilted at him. “You don’t have to suffer til morning, we’re not monsters.”

He nearly flinches at her word choice, remembering the only time she’d looked at him in fear that first night, how it had hurt to hear someone so brave in his presence refer to him so poorly. He might have lost the mask and the rougher-looking arm, but he thinks her opinion is probably the same sometimes. “I did not say that you were,” he says, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Her expression is still strange, and he can’t quite read it, which is more frustrating than he thought it would be. “If you’re hungry, why aren’t you eating?” she asks quietly.

He doesn’t exactly want to admit that he is incapable of preparing his own food, regardless of whether its sympathy in her eyes or not. He swallows again, and something softens on her face before she looks down at Anya. “Well Princess, I think we’ve found a new friend to join us on midnight snack raids,” she says cheerfully, gesturing for Anya to scramble up onto her hip. “Though remember, since you gave us away, I get first pick of the snack drawer.”

Arcann frowns as she turns away, Anya’s near-comical gasp echoing in the hallway. “What! Not fair! He knew we were there first, it wasn’t me!”

Calli almost snorts, apparently incredibly skeptical even as she offhandedly gestures for him to follow them. “Uh-huh. My stealth generator is smarter than Force users, you know that.”

He huffs under his breath before quickly following them. “I did know someone was there,” he grumbles, feeling a little insulted. He was trained to spot stealthers while he was still a child, he knows what to look for by now.

He just keeps forgetting Calli can use stealth, that’s all. That’s why his heart had hammered to see her, it was surprise.

Anya audibly scowls, twisting in Calli’s arms to look at him. “See! He did know!” she says proudly, beaming at him when she sees he is following.

He almost smiles back - his little niece’s manner is nearly infectious, and it’s impossible to be upset around her for too long. Calli, however, seems significantly less impressed. “He must have sensed the incredible Force powers of my little guardian,” she says guilelessly, bouncing Anya on her hip as they turn the corner.

To his amusement, Anya does puff up a little at the praise. “No stealth can hide me!” she declares proudly.

Come to think of it… “Why were you stealthed anyway?” he asks. This is their home, it’s not as though they need to skulk around the halls like criminals.

Anya wriggles enough that Calli releases her, and she slides back to the floor. “Practicing!”

He looks at Calli in confusion, but she’s looking down at Anya. “We have a deal, she tries to be quiet, and she gets a treat,” she says gently before continuing, her tone far drier. “Somebody needs more practice at that. Plus Thexan bet I couldn’t do it.”

He keeps forgetting that she is friends with his twin, but Anya speaks again before he can comment on it. “Daddy just wants all the treats for himself!”

Huh. If he’s correct, there’s the door for the kitchen up ahead. They must have been closer than he thought. Calli sighs, tapping Anya’s head as she skips next to her. “True. Daddy does have a terrible sweet tooth,” she says, lips twitching. “But remember honey, I get first pick. You gave us away. That’s the rules.”

Anya shakes her head, almost hopping mad. “Nu-uh! He saw you first, not me! He was looking at you!”

Alright, perhaps his goodwill towards his niece was a little misplaced. Somehow it feels strange to admit he was looking at Calli first. “I didn’t know who it was,” he says hastily. “I just knew it was someone.”

Calli gives him a weird look again and Anya shrugs. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!” she calls cheerfully, sprinting towards the kitchen.

“Anya!”

He’s mildly amused watching Calli lunge after the tiny blur of blue, feeling the rush of Force powers over Anya’s skin to enhance her speed. And if his gaze drops a little as he follows them, well, he’s only human.

By the time he enters the kitchen, Anya is perched on the benchtop, wriggling excitedly in place as Calli rummages around the cupboards. “I win!” she says gleefully, kicking her heels against the drawers under her.

Calli huffs, crouching down for a moment and drawing his gaze again. “You just want Sky’s chili chocolate brownies,” she says, voice muffled as she pokes her head further into the cupboard. “You’re lucky your daddy didn’t eat them all.”

Anya claps, clearly delighted. “We hid them real good!” she says happily, before looking at him curiously. “Uncle Arcann, do _you_ like chili chocolate brownies? We can share!”

Arcann blinks, distracted from eying Calli’s curves to look back up at his niece. “I… don’t know?”

Calli re-emerges with a small container in her hands, but Anya is too busy looking at him, jaw dropped and expression horrified. “What do you mean you don’t know?” she asks. “Brownies are the best!”

Calli laughs as she straightens, opening the container to reveal something that smells very sweet. “Don’t worry honey, if he’s anything like your daddy I’m sure he’ll figure it out fast,” she says, ruffling Anya’s lekku before handing her her treat. “You Zakuulans all seem to like spicy foods. And Tiralls certainly love sweets.”

Anya beams, stuffing the brown square in her mouth before jumping off the benchtop and scurrying over to the nearby table. “Fank you!” she squeaks, words muffled by her treat.

Calli shakes her head before turning to him, strangely seeming nervous as she offers the container. “Do you want one?”

His stomach rumbles, but he doesn’t reach out to take it just yet. “What is a brownie?” he asks skeptically.

Calli shrugs. “It’s chocolate. Kinda like a combination of a cookie and a cake? Skyrii makes hers with chocolate with chili in it, gives it a bit of a kick. Apparently it’s like crack for Mandalorians and Zakuulans, since you guys put spice in everything. I had to fight Koth just to keep this much.”

He looks at her doubtfully. “I fail to see the point,” he mutters. “It does not seem very appealing.”

Calli pauses. “Really? Do you not like cookies or cake either?”

He frowns, feeling rather defensive at her incredulous tone. “I am not required to like all of your foods,” he snaps. Nevermind that he does not recognise those terms in the slightest.

She actually rolls her eyes at him. “Could’ve just said no, Your Imperial Majesty,” she mutters, turning back towards the fridge.

He kind of hates how often she uses his former titles when she is speaking to him. There’s something harsh and impersonal about the way she refuses to use his name when she’s mocking him. He supposes she sometimes calls Anya by her title too, but it doesn’t feel the same.

He doesn’t really know how to respond to that, and so waits in silence while she starts pulling ingredients out and placing them on the benchtop. “What are you doing?” he asks eventually, now a little curious.

Calli doesn’t respond at first and he gets the distinct impression that she’s rolling her eyes at him again. “Planning my hostile takeover of Naboo - what does it _look_ like I’m doing?” she mutters into the fridge.

In retaliation, he decides not to mention when a tiny blue blur sneaks into his range and steals another of the brownies. His gaze is drawn to Anya for a minute, ignoring the rustle of packages behind him as Calli does... something, and he fights back a smile as his niece starts playing with her food, pulling it apart and levitating the pieces before chasing them with her mouth.

“Help yourself,” Calli says suddenly, drawing his attention back to her.

He stares at her for a moment and the little tray of snacks she has in front of her. Slices of cheese and fruits and crackers, slices of crusty bread and... is that leftover slices of that nice spiced meat from lunch? She’s concentrating on slicing an apple, expertly moving the knife around in her hands as she twists the fruit. “Stop staring and just eat the food Arcann - with that stomach grumbling you need something.”

He’s mildly impressed that much of the food on the plate is the foods he’s enjoyed most since joining the Alliance. Had she even noticed that, or was it just coincidence? “I-”

His hesitance apparently annoys her because she flicks a piece of the apple peel at him. “Less talking, more eating. Or I’ll eat all the good bits,” she says, smirking as she picks up a slice of the nice cheese.

He would grumpily comment on that, because she clearly knew that was his favourite kind, but when his stomach rumbles again he decides prudence might be the better way to go.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, both pretending to ignore the casually levitating brownie leaving the box - he supposes he should mention it is technically Anya’s third, after overhearing Ona’la worrying about how too many sweets might make her tummy upset - but he forgets about it after Calli absently pushes the last piece of cheese over to his side.

It makes something in his chest feel tight, how weirdly comfortable it can be around her sometimes. She’s so prickly and he doesn’t understand what she wants from him, but when she drops her guard it’s just... nice, to be here with her. He wonders if she sometimes feels that way too - she certainly hadn’t avoided his company this evening after all. Or perhaps she’s just being a polite hostess, and the thought makes him frown.

Calli apparently is unaware of his inner turmoil, nudging her chin in Anya’s direction. “She thinks she’s being subtle,” she says in a low voice, and it almost makes him jump to hear her speaking Zakuulan again. He likes the sound of it in her voice, the slight accent to her words just tempting enough he’s almost straining his implant to listen to her. “I don’t think subtlety is in your family’s genes though.”

His goodwill vanishes, prickly pride making him square his shoulders at her. “We are perfectly capable of subtlety when the occasion calls for it,” he snaps. It’s strange how good it is to be speaking Zakuulan again with someone other than Thexan or his mother... though he wishes she was being nicer to him in the process.

She almost snorts, eyes still on Anya. “Oh, like you can talk, Mister _“I’ll claim you so thoroughly everyone will know you belong to me”?_ ”

His own eyebrows rise, a little stunned she’d so blatantly bring up that first night. “Do you think of that often?”

Her face flushes instantly, her gaze moving from Anya back to him, and he suddenly wonders if she’d even realised she’d said it aloud. “What? No! No, not at all!”

He smirks, instantly more at ease at the sign of her interest, whether former or still current. “Oh? It sounds as though you do.”

She’s still blushing, scowling at him as she pokes his chest and he tries not to grunt at the movement. “Look here you, what I think about is none of your business,” she says hotly.

He steps closer, incredibly intrigued by her change of mood. “If it involves me, I think it certainly is my business,” he replies, voice low. “Is that why you chose me the other night?”

He stills, the flash of boldness caused by the look on her face fading as he realised what he said. But to his surprise she doesn’t stomp off or move away from him, instead lifting her chin. “I am not so easily claimed,” she says testily.

The spark of challenge on her face is utterly intoxicating, and he finds he can’t quite recall why he may have been upset with her before. “You certainly seemed pleased with your choice,” he responds smugly. “ _Every_ time, in fact. Very vocally.”

She glares at him, but her cheeks are still warm and there’s less anger behind her eyes than he’s seen previously. “And so did you, bucko. Although if you’re trying to angle for a tiebreaker now… well, I don’t kneel for just anyone. Perfect placement against the bench or not.”

She... his brain stops a little bit at the implication, certainly not expecting that level of directness from her. And definitely not in Zakuulan. It’s kind of... hot. She smirks at him, clearly pleased with his response from the victorious look on her face. “Ha! Besides, I’m still recovering from last time.”

Well, that’s definitely a good sign, and he can’t quite help the way he almost puffs up at that, clearly pleased at her insinuation. He realises he’s standing much closer to her now, her back clearly pressed against the edge of the bench. “Mmm, I told you I was that good,” he says smugly, feeling far more secure in this particular role than the usual way he feels around her - constantly off balance.

She rolls her eyes, but she still doesn’t move away. “Cool your engines boy, I meant my neck.”

He blinks, almost looking down at her now. “What?”

She tugs on her hair a bit to reveal the bruise on her neck, grumpily huffing at him. “See! See what you did!”

There’s something a little bit too primal about seeing her with the marks of his passion still obvious on her body, and he finds that he can only stare silently until she releases her hair. “And now I have to wear high-collared shirts for days. _Days_.”

“I could try healing it,” he says, almost before he’s even aware of it, and she pauses.

“What?”

He feels suddenly bashful, taking a half step back so he’s not standing in her space anymore. “I could try to heal it,” he repeats. “I… it’s the least I can do.”

She’s staring at him again with that unreadable look on her face, her hand over the mark, and it frustrates him a little bit. “Well I am still learning but… I can’t make it worse, at least?”

She blinks and the moment lingers before she nods. “Okay,” she says quietly, and it takes more willpower than he thought he had to not look at her mouth when she wets her lips.

And... come to think of it, there’s one other problem. “I… I am still learning predominantly through touch,” he says quickly. “I… if that’s alright?”

Calli seems startled for a moment but nods, and it takes more effort than he thought to make his fingers slowly reach up to touch her neck. Better to close his eyes and concentrate rather than look into hers - in the low lighting of the room they are far too dark and far too beguiling for his overwhelmed senses.

To his surprise it _does_ feel easier to heal Calli’s wounds, even with his nerves. Something about the gesture feels easier than it usually does when he trains with Lieca, and he relaxes as he feels her do the same.

He slowly opens his eyes as the Force wears off, and Calli is actually smiling at him, eyes a little hazy. “Any excuse to get your hands on me, eh Arcann?” she says slyly.

Anything he was about to say is forgotten by the flash of blue to his right as a tiny twilek appears on the benchtop next to them. “What are we whispering about?” Anya asks urgently, her Zakuulan a little clumsy but still perfectly understandable.

Calli just about leaps away from him, an impressive move considering she had her back to the bench. “Anya!” she squeaks, and it would be highly amusing if he had not also leapt back. He had admittedly completely forgotten about his niece. “ _Scyva_ , you scared me!”

Anya looks briefly chastised, but is quickly grinning again, almost bouncing in her spot on the benchtop. “I was the most sneaky!” she says proudly, still in Zakuulan to match them. “You didn’t even see!”

Calli actually has her hand over her heart, eyes still wide. “No we didn’t... you definitely surprised me!” she says, before turning on him, expression vaguely accusing. “Did you know she was there?”

He shakes his head. “Very sneaky,” he confirms, before looking guiltily at the now empty box of brownies. “Uh…”

Calli sighs, shaking her head before moving quickly to clear away the remnants of their snacks. “Don’t worry, that wasn’t all of them.”

Arcann blinks and turns to Anya, who’s still staring at him. “Uncle Arcann, why were you whispering?”

“I… uh…”

She glares at him suspiciously, hands on her hips. “Were you guys playing a game without me?” she demands, sounding a little outraged. “You gonna be the most quiet to get the most presents?”

He’s pretty sure his face is rather flushed now too, and he’s luckily rescued by Calli’s reappearance into the conversation, her own cheeks quite pink. “Now Anya, you had your treats, and more than you should have had,” she scolds. “Don’t pick on Arcann. Now, off to bed with you missy, before your daddy has my head in the morning for letting you eat so much.”

“But Caaaaaaaaalli, I’m not sleepy!”

Calli folds her arms. “No buts Anya, we had a deal. Honourable little princesses are supposed to keep their deals, aren’t they?”

Anya sulks for a moment but finally nods. “Fine,” she mutters. “But I wanna sit on Arcann’s shoulders on the way back! He’s taller!”

To his amusement, Calli looks faintly offended at that, but she apparently chooses not to argue since Anya is at least agreeing with her. “Fine,” she says back, mimicking Anya’s tone perfectly. “Hurry up then princess. Your mighty steed awaits!”

He glares at her for that, but Anya is quickly scrambling up his uninjured arm and comfortably perches on his shoulders before he can say anything. “I don’t recall agreeing to this,” he mutters.

Calli just smiles, eyes sparkling with laughter as she pats his forearm, apparently unaware of how he tenses at the gesture. “Everyone always says that to Anya. Everyone’s always wrong,” she says smugly. “Now, onwards! To sleep!”

 

* * *

 

Well, this certainly isn’t how she expected this evening to go at all.

Technically she hadn’t even planned to go for midnight snacks, but then a hungry little miss Anya had messaged her through Holiday and well, a deal’s a deal. She knows by now how very exhausted Thexan and Ona’la are from trying to keep up with her, and most adults in the extended family are all well versed in taking on the role of guardian should they come across the little princess free of her parent’s supervision. Calli is a little smug that the overactive twi’lek has taken such a shine to her, and she’s not at all one to put her foot down when there’s mischief to be had. Sneaking around in stealth is an excellent way to both add a little fun adventure, and try to keep Anya quiet so she doesn’t wake anyone else up. It had almost been a success, until she saw who appeared to be her favourite person in the world and started yelling at him.

Arcann.

Who, admittedly, despite everything with Flissa earlier that day (does it count as that day when it’s now past midnight? Maybe?) she had been avoiding. It’s easier to think about, well, _everything_ , when she doesn’t have to see him and talk to him. Bastard is too distracting for his own good, even when he’s clearly not trying to be.

Bastard who looks almost adorable in rumpled sleep clothes, the poncho so out of place from his usual choice of Zakuulan armour that she could barely keep from giggling. Except, of course, sleepwear doesn’t do much to hide his body from her, so the giggling might have been a little less innocent.

She also wasn’t expecting the pang in her heart when he quietly admitted that he wasn’t going to eat. He was clearly hungry, his stomach rumbling loudly enough both her and Anya could hear it, and yet he wasn’t going to get any food?

She’s a little too familiar with the concept of avoiding food as a sort of punishment, so even if that’s not what he’s doing (even if she’s fairly sure it is), she’s not going to just let him wallow. Lieca tries to be all soft with him sometimes, but it’s pretty obvious he’s less of a pushover than she thinks. So she might have used his niece’s glee to entrap him into eating.

It occurs to her on their way to the kitchens that he was probably used to servants bringing him food in his precious ivory tower - does that expression still count when it was glass? Maybe? - and so the idea of going to get his own food is probably foreign to him. But no matter. Even if he wants to sulk, Anya’s a pretty good distraction. She’ll help him.

She only realises about halfway through unwrapping the foodstuffs that she’s fairly sure Arcann likes that maybe she’s trying to help him herself as well, and she pauses to watch him banter with his niece. She... she doesn’t care about him as a person like his family does. His comfort doesn’t matter to her. Yet here she stands, contemplating adding gross extra-spiced meat with her lovely cheese plate because she knows it’s a food that Arcann likes.

Well, in her defence, he was clearly hungrier than her. And although she rather dislikes him at times, she’s not going to punish him with food, that’s just cruel.

Maybe she should just eat the cheese and stop overthinking everything. Which backfired on her almost immediately as her wandering thoughts led her to blurting out her thoughts about the first time they had sex and oh fucking fuck.

Smug, confident Arcann should be _illegal_. That is unfairly hot okay, and she’s having enough fantasies of him already, thank you very much!

Thank all the fucking gods she knows of that Anya interrupted when she did. She’s already feeling like the worst guardian ever for temporarily forgetting her charge, she didn’t need to top off her terrible decision-making for the evening by trying to climb Arcann on the kitchen bench.

Although, would that really have been such a bad idea?

She’s pulled from her dangerous thoughts as Anya croons again, kicking her tiny legs to try to make Arcann move faster through the hallways, and she suppresses a giggle. They’re literally in sight of Anya’s room, where she’ll have to lie down and go back to sleep, and yet she still sees it all as a game, still wanting to play.

Playing games with Arcann would be pretty fun _oh for fuck’s sake get your hormones under control!_

She shakes her head, smiling as Anya noisily kisses the back of Arcann’s head, and slides down his back to bound to her side, where she kneels down so Anya can kiss her too. “Thank you for snacks!” Anya whispers loudly in her ear, beaming.

Calli smiles. “You’re welcome Anya,” she says formally, spoiling the effect by reaching out to pinch her nose. “Now, you have to be very sneaky and go back to sleep now okay? You don’t want to be caught by your parents for being up and stealing Daddy’s brownies do you?”

Anya’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

“Do you need help brushing your teeth?”

“Nope!”

“Are you gonna do it, or are you gonna just pretend you did and tell me naughty fibs tomorrow?”

Arcann is watching the two of them intently, and she can’t quite tell if it’s unnerving or not. “I’m gonna do it,” Anya whines, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. There’s no way she’s gonna go to sleep once she’s back in her room.

At least she tried to wear her out a little. “Good girl,” she murmurs, smoothing her hand over her lekku again. “Go on, now.”

Anya beams at her. “Goodnight!” she whispers again at the same volume, bounding off into the room without another sound.

Calli only stands up when she hears the click of the lock on the door, satisfied that Anya won’t be escaping again tonight.

Which leaves her in the hallway, alone with Arcann. Well, _fuck_.

It really does not help to look over and find him still staring at her, and she nervously tucks her hair behind her ear. “Well, um, now that the princess is back in her castle…” she starts lamely, taking a step back.

He frowns. “You’re not walking back by yourself, are you?” he asks gruffly.

Calli raises an eyebrow at him. “I think I know how to find my own room from here, thanks,” she says dryly. “What, are assassin droids gonna spawn from the walls?”

He looks a little annoyed now. “Considering the fluctuations from the Gravestone, that is more likely than you’d think,” he mutters grumpily.

She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the little skip in her heartbeat. Is he worried about her? “Calm down, I’ll be fine,” she answers. “Besides, what are you gonna do without your lightsaber?”

His expression is tight. “I am more than capable of destroying anyone who tries to hurt you, armed or not.”

She blinks. “Oh,” she says lamely, heart definitely beating a little faster now. That’s, um, that’s a bit intense. And hot. What is _wrong_ with her?

He eventually sighs, the sound a clear note of frustration under his breath. “I will walk with you,” he says, stepping closer to her.

She kinda wasn’t prepared for that, and squeaks as he steps her into her space. Seriously! Smug confident Arcann! Illegal! “That’s not necessary, really,” she gasps, hands automatically moving to his chest when he steps in front of her.

“I insist,” he says, clearly smug now.

She glares at him, and pushes enough to make him take a step back in surprise, before turning on her heel and flouncing off. “Do you even know where my room is?” she asks hotly.

“Mmm?” was his vague response, which did not reassure her as she walked briskly away from him.

She rolls her eyes again. “How are you even supposed to find your way back afterwards?” she asks dryly, turning around and pausing as his eyes snap up to her face.

Was... was he staring at her ass?

He smiles tightly. “I will manage.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Okaaaaay,” she drawls, before turning back around and heading off again. So maybe she sways her hips a little more than strictly necessary, so sue her. It’s… a little thrilling, being the focus of his attentions, even if it’s just in her head.

Was it just because of what she’d accidentally said earlier, that’s making him a little more confident again? Or is she just imagining it all, projecting her own annoying lust onto him? That’d just be pathetic, _ugh_.

They make it to her room without further incident, trying to keep quiet so they don’t wake anyone else up - well, Calli was deliberately being quiet, she thinks Arcann just didn’t have much to say. And then she’s left awkwardly hovering at her own threshold, not sure what she wants here.

Okay, let’s be honest. What she _wants_ is to drag Arcann back into her room and show him who’s boss. But, well, they both made it pretty clear that all they want is sex. And she’s still not entirely 100% sure if he wants her for her, or just because she’s in that position of power over him due to her connection to Lieca, who literally holds his life in her hands.

Is it weird to ask him for sex again? Does that make this a _thing_? Or can it just be that? Would he agree, or just go along with it, or walk away in disgust?

Her own words to Flissa come back to her, and she almost angrily bites her lip. It’s not giving him a chance, or being his friend, or making this more than it needs to be. They’re both adults, any stupid redemption arc or whatever the fuck it is he’s going through can be entirely separate from her.

Plus, she’s a little too fucking horny right now and if he keeps looking at her like that, well, she really can’t be held responsible for her own actions. Or something.

He’s almost looming again, and it should possible be a little more threatening, but it’s just more of a turn-on and _damn him_.

She finally sighs angrily. She’s not going to get any answers here if she doesn’t say anything, and at least this way if he says no or it’s weird, she can blame it on the late hour. Or something. “Look,” she starts heatedly, apparently startling him as his head jerks up. There’s pretty much no way that this won’t end in trouble, but hey, it’s her. She’s used to dealing with trouble. She’ll be fine. Just needs to make sure he knows the boundaries, and if he doesn’t like them, he can go. At least she’ll know either way. “I can either go get myself off, or we can have sex right now. Thoughts?”

Oh my fucking gods Callistra, could you be anymore pathetic? _Who the fuck would say yes to that idiotic proposal?_ That wasn’t sexy at all!

Arcann’s eyes widen. “What?”

She huffs. Great, this embarrassment has to go on, _kill her now_. “Okay, maybe I could’ve been way more smooth, but you know, we’ve already had sex twice and it was great and hey, why not continue that _mmph_!”

So apparently that wasn’t as pathetic as she thought as Arcann is suddenly kissing her, and wow all thought stops pretty quickly after that. Even when she’s completely sober, he’s still a fucking fantastic kisser, what is _that_ about?

And you know, he kissed her rather than run off because he thought she was crazy, also a good start.

They stumble into her room, still kissing hungrily, and woah it’s a huge head rush that he’s pretty heavily directing this time. Nice to be wanted and all? Maybe he did want her for her, not just for the feeling he was out of the Alliance if he didn’t?

“So more than okay with this?” she moans between kisses.

He nods, kissing her harder. “Definitely,” he groans, the sound turning higher pitched as she deliberately rolls her hips into his.

She would almost laugh at the thought of how their roles have reversed from that first night, but then his mouth finds her neck again and she almost can’t breathe, let alone think.

“If you make another bruise there I’ll be so mad,” she gasps into his ear eventually.

She can _feel_ the way he chuckles, trailing his kisses back to her mouth. “I’m counting on it,” he says smugly.

Damn his sexiness, how the fuck is a girl supposed to think like this? And you know, high time she was able to see what he was giving out - he’s done a good job of keeping her from seeing him before, but this is her room, her proposition, her terms. And she wants to see what she’s so eager to fuck this time.

But when her hands slip under his shirt, he completely freezes, and something makes her go numb at the way he jerks away from her, releasing her mouth.

She can literally feel the mood deflating, suddenly feeling like the worst person ever. That reaction was instinctive, that wasn’t a ticklish flinch. His body all but screaming get away and the moment hangs so awkwardly between them, Arcann’s expression stricken and hers still frozen.

_What has she done?_

“If you didn’t want me, you could have just said so,” she says harshly, folding her hands under her arms as she steps back. “Don’t just fucking pretend for my sake, okay? That’s not alright, I don’t want to be that person. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself and I’m pretty good with rejection by now-”

“It’s not that,” he interrupts quickly, still looking a little panicked. “I- I just…”

“What?” she snaps, still feeling hurt and almost unbearably embarrassed. Such a rapid swap from arousal to mortification, she certainly hasn’t missed this feeling.

He tries to speak again but nothing happens, and he just looks frustrated now. “I…”

She tucks her arms around herself tighter. “It’s fine,” she answers, even though it’s not, it’s really not. She’d much rather have had him say no outright. “You don’t want it, and I shouldn’t have pushed and I’m sorry.” And she’s still going to be feeling those kisses for hours, and it just makes her feel more ashamed.

His face softens, and he weirdly takes a step forward. “Calli,” he says quietly, and gods it shouldn’t hurt hearing her name in his voice, but it _does_.

“What?” she snaps, aware she’s overreacting a bit at the man she practically mauled without his consent, but she’s tired and hurt and horrified and about two seconds away from bursting into tears.

He huffs again in frustration. “You don’t understand,” he starts, and it just makes her more annoyed.

“What don’t I understand?” she snaps back. “I ask you for sex, you say yes, but your body very clearly says no and I won’t be responsible for pushing you like that! That’s not okay! You should be able to feel like you can walk away without having to explain yourself, you don’t owe me anything!” she snarls as she turns away from him, trying to hide her eyes.

He’s hesitating, clearly fumbling for words, and it’s not very reassuring. “Calli, it’s not you, it’s, it’s-”

She’s more than a little frustrated, but taking it out on him won’t help anyone, and just makes her feel more like an asshole. “What?” she mutters tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Do you think my face is the only part of me covered in scars?”

She blinks in surprise, and turns around to face him again. “What?”

He’s staring at her, cheeks flushed but chin held high, and he doesn’t say anything else.

Just... really? Is this just about the scars? Is that why he’s kept himself hidden from her before? Well, that’s kind of a huge relief that she wasn’t trying to seduce him into something he didn’t want -“But… surely your other consorts saw your body,” she says uncertainly. “You… you made me feel like I was… different.”

He looks away from her. “You are the only one who has ever seen me without my mask,” he says quietly. “You are different.”

 _Tread cautiously, Calli._ “But… they’re just scars?” she says again, the sentence framed like a question. “They’re not really that bad after all?”

His head jerks to look back at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “It’s just scars Arcann. It’s not like a huge turnoff for me or anything,” she says bluntly before tilting her head at him. “Is that really why you blindfolded me before?”

He’s still staring at her, and she risks stepping closer again, slowly reaching up one hand to cup his cheek. “It’s just a different texture,” she says lightly, pretending she doesn’t notice the piercing blue following her every move. “I mean, if they were still healing, that might be a little gross. I don’t want to kiss open wounds or anything, yuck.”

His lips twitch at that, and she takes that as a win, slowly running her thumb over his cheek. “I think you’re just a little worried over nothing,” she says slowly. “Everyone’s got scars. You’ve just got a few extra, that’s all.”

This time, when he kisses her, it’s far slower and she’s pretty sure that means something and _fuck_ , maybe she really is in too deep. But slow kisses are still capable of distracting her thoroughly.

“It’s more like a lot extra. And my arm,” he murmurs against her lips.

She smiles. “Let me be the judge of that?”

The look on his face is one she’s sure she won’t forget anytime soon, and although it’s far slower this time, she still counts it as a victory when he takes his shirt off himself, rather than letting her push him before he’s ready again.

And well, if she has to kiss every one of the scars dotting his torso to reassure him, so be it. There are far worse things she could be doing with her evening than slowly torturing a cute guy with her mouth.

The skin around the area where the chest plate supports for his shoulder end is pretty sensitive, and she makes a note of that before he starts to tug on her shirt too.

And if it’s slower and sweeter this time than it’s been before, well, that’s a problem for Future Calli again. At least they were both clear about what they wanted this time. Fucking amazing sex.

Though she still might have laughed when they were both finally spent and Arcann hesitantly asked if he was supposed to stay or go, since he hadn’t ever been in a partner’s room before.

She might have hit him with the pillow and told him to sleep. More things to worry about in the morning.

Wouldn’t be the first time she’s crept out of her own room if she needs to.


	38. Iokath

In the end, Arcann wasn’t entirely surprised to wake up alone.

It took a good while to realise he was not in his own room, with the softness of the bed as his first clue. The musky smell of sex in the air was his second, and if it had brought back memories of their night together in the palace, well, he could hardly be blamed for that could he? Significantly more pleasant this time though, despite the strange way his heart lurched in his chest at the sudden flash of memory.

It’s still a little off-putting, smelling things without the filter of his mask. He wonders if the scents are actually different, or if his nose is just far weaker - he could barely smell Calli’s perfume in the room now, even with the clearly-recently-used bottle on the dresser nearby.

Regardless, he had been a little disoriented upon waking, though his memory quickly returned once he sat up and took a moment to think.

He had never really considered how it would feel to let Calli see him as he is now, never really envisioned a future where she would be in a position to see his body in such an intimate setting. Never really thought about how soft and sweet she would turn at his cursed _weakness_ , how gently she would kiss and touch all of his scars and not just those across the injured half of his face.

And he’d thought she plagued his thoughts before…

But he knew that he had to gather his clothes and leave, rather than dwell on the exceptionally pleasant memories. He might never have spent the night with a consort in their room, and not really know what was expected of him now, but he felt… awkward in her space, without her.

Which was how he found himself in the mess hall less than an hour later, after eventually locating his room (having only gotten lost once), taken a rather long shower (full of _distracting_ thoughts) and donning his armour. It’s surprising how much more comfortable he feels in his Zakuulan leather armour, as opposed to the plain sleepwear that clearly everyone else finds more comfortable.

_Stop thinking about Calli in tiny sleep shorts and focus on breakfast._

It’s actually surprisingly late in the morning by the time he collects his tray of food from the mess hall buffet line. Even with the break in the night for food, and then fucking _fantastic_ sex, he still wouldn’t normally sleep until this late. Even in the palace, no matter how tired he was, he always rose with the sun, if not before that.

Perhaps it’s something to do with the way the sunlight naturally filtered through the palace, as opposed to the endlessly dark, cave-like rooms here. He can’t think of anything else that has changed.

Annoyingly, the later hour means that less options of food are available, and that the mess hall has less patrons. Which, on the one hand, means less people to despise and judge him - but also less people who vaguely tolerate his presence that he can be near instead. He’s slowly getting used to being around people on a daily basis, and not staying cooped up alone in his rooms or on the throne, only approached by single staff during the day. Being around Odessen’s crowds is... tiring, and he still feels like his proverbial back is against the wall at the hostile energy that follows him everywhere. But the people seem to be grudgingly getting used to his presence, although they generally prefer to avoid him; he’ll take being ignored over being noticed by the hostile crowd any day. Far easier to hover near those who do tolerate him rather than endure the grating experience of the crowds.

Well, at least easier if there are any of those people around in the first place.

After collecting the last of the particular sweet and flaky pastries onto his tray (he has no idea what they are called, only that they are delicious), he turns and pauses to recognise Senya sitting at a bench by the window area, basking in the rays of sunshine filtering through the windows with a serene smile, a cup of something steaming gently held in her hands.

He feels a flash of guilt at the sight. He admittedly hasn’t spent a great deal of time with his mother since their reunion. How does one speak with a mother they haven’t seen in nearly two decades, who shows up in their darkest hour, and then all but sacrifices her life for them? He’s certainly not spectacular at social interaction at the best of time, but he feels even those that are would struggle with this scenario. And even if they knew what to say, it’s highly unlikely anyone else would be in this situation to start with, as _they_ wouldn’t make the same foolish decisions as him, and-

“Arcann?”

He blinks rapidly as he is drawn from his thoughts, realising that his mother is gently hailing him. He must have moved from the buffet tables while he was thinking, because he’s suddenly much closer to her, drawn into her orbit like a wayward comet around a star. “Mother,” he greets awkwardly, shuffling on his feet.

She nods politely to the chair opposite her. “Would you like to join me?”

He slides into the offered bench before he can think about it too much. “Thank you,” he says stiffly. Words he really needs to say far more to his mother, but… it’s hard. But he does owe her… _everything_ , and so the least he can do is try.

Senya lifts her teacup to her mouth. “You seem in a rather good mood this morning,” she says eventually, eyebrow lifted as though it was a question.

His brow furrows as he tries to puzzle out what she means - because she can’t possibly know about _that_ -, and the bang of the door to the room slamming open makes him jump, almost dropping the fruit in his hand as he turns to look. A set of tiny golden and blue blurs are giggling madly as they race towards the sweets table, closely pursued by an exasperated Geralt and Thexan who are calling desperate warnings to their offspring about spoiling their appetite; the children expertly weave between the last of the breakfast crowds, snatching up all manner of pastries and sugary treats, while Calli laughs at them from the doorway. He can’t help but turn automatically to the sound of her laughter, so carefree and hearty. Apparently she is in the employ of the children, as she quickly shields them from sight as they return to the door with their prizes, Geralt dramatically shouting after them in a mix of languages as Calli blows a kiss in the Mirialan’s direction and turns to abscond with her charges.

“Ah,” says Senya knowingly, and he turns back to look at his mother suspiciously.

“Ah? What ‘ _ah_ ’?” he asks, feeling confused.

Senya shakes her head, smiling serenely. “Never mind, I understand now,” she says, sounding pleased as she drinks again.

He frowns, sure that he’s missed some verbal cue somewhere, but deciding not to dwell on it as he turns his attention to his food.

They sit in silence for a time, Senya content with her tea and he slowly making his way through his food. “You are eating rather late this morning,” Senya says eventually.

He manages not to pull a face through sheer force of will at the baked good he had accidentally collected, setting it aside as casually as possible. Why does it have seeds? _Yuck_. Why is food always so strange here? “I ate in the early hours of the morning, I did not need to eat earlier,” he replies stiffly, picking up his own mug to take a drink. Or was he not supposed to mention the… ‘midnight snacks’ to his mother? Was that what Calli and Anya called them? He should have asked if he could mention it - the girls certainly seemed to be acting as though it was a colossal secret.

He hasn’t been a part of anyone’s secrets for a very long time now.

Senya raises her eyebrow. “I understand that conversation is perhaps not our strong point, but there are some things a mother does not particularly need to hear about her son’s nighttime proclivities, Arcann,” she says with an innocent smile.

It takes him a moment to register her meaning, his brain needing a few seconds to parse the slang she is likely referring to, and when the answer comes to him it’s enough to make him choke on his drink. “ _Mother!_ ” he says hotly, once he has recovered; his cheeks are flaming so badly that his drink seems cold in comparison.

She laughs, eyes twinkling even as he glares at her before returning his full attention to his plate. He can’t make eye contact with his mother after... after _that,_ there’s just no way. There’s his answer about if she was implying what he thought she was. Though Calli certainly had no complaints, and he pauses for a moment to dwell on that exceptionally pleasant memory before recalling that his mother is sitting across from him and this is _not the best time_. “I do not know of what you speak,” he continues stiffly, crossly biting into a piece of toast. “I was eating cheese and fruit and crackers.” She doesn’t need to know that the other part might also be true.

Senya nods. “Mm-hmm,” she says vaguely in response, leaving him to eat for a moment before speak again. “Just… be careful, Arcann.”

He pauses. “What?”

She looks down at her teacup, fingers toying with the outer rim. “I just… I know I have not been a good mother to you. To any of you. I left you, I hurt you, I wasn’t there for you-”

“Mother,” he interrupts wearily, but she continues anyway.

“I just want my children to be happy. To have something in their lives that is good and makes it better. Something that is free from what Valkorion tried to do with you all. It’s why I chose to save you, why I want to help all of you. You deserve to be your own people, free from your father’s control. And I want to help with that, I want you to be happy.”

She looks at him almost expectantly, and he eventually realises she wants a response. “I do not deserve that,” he says quietly. “The things I have done… I have a long way to go.”

She reaches across as though she’s going to touch his arm, and when he doesn’t flinch she does lightly place her hand over his. “True,” she says gently, squeezing before letting go, and he feels himself relax as she moves back. “But if there is something that makes you happy in the process, you should go after it.”

“Mother, I don’t-”

“-or... some _one._ ”

He blinks at her in surprise again, fairly certain the rapid heartbeat is at her proximity. He’s still not entirely used to casual touches, even from his family. He doesn’t understand the innocent intimacy that Calli offers to her family and friends - the soft touches across Cera’s shoulders, tight hugs with Lieca, or showering her nieces in cuddles and playful kisses. It might terrify him a little, the idea of someone being allowed into his space with such frequency but it also seems… nice. In its own way.

Regardless, his mother’s insinuation is not entirely welcome. Even if he did want… _more_ \- and the mere idea makes his heart hammer in his chest, the desperate urge to flee tempered by the demand for _control_ \- he has absolutely no right to ask for it. Calli had made her feelings quite plain. He has never wanted more before - in fact sometimes he’s even wanted _less_. This is _wrong_.

His frustration must show on his face because Senya draws back, adopting a more formal tone. “Well, I have said my piece. I apologise if I have upset you,” she says gently. “Just… think of what I’ve said. Please?”

He nods tightly, unwilling to risk an actual response as he tries to keep his body from attempting to flee on the spot, and a flare of pain runs down his injured arm as he tenses. Esne _damnit_ , why couldn’t the blasted thing just _heal_ already? He understands perfectly well that these things take time, but he’s becoming used to the more frequent periods of calm between the flare-ups, and so the increasing rarity makes them more painful when they do strike.

And this one is entirely his own fault for lifting Calli’s weight when he had done next to no weight-training with the new arm, and certainly not lifting the weight of a young woman. The memory leaves a sour taste in his mouth, his own blasted weakness and failures on easy display, and his shoulder is beginning to ache with the strain of being so tight. He should be used to this by now but it’s still _frustrating_.

Senya’s expression changes, and he wonders if his pain is showing on his face. He swallows desperately and pushes the food away, moving to stand up before he can’t. “I am not hungry anymore,” he declares, trying to keep his voice at least sounding strong even as he tries not to sway on his feet

He can feel the press of Senya’s concern rise, even as he realises the soft note of enquiry in his head is Lieca, but it’s all just _too much_ and he just… he wants to be alone.

He waves off his mother and leaves the room almost immediately, brushing Lieca aside in the process.

From such a promising start to this - this day is terrible.

 

* * *

 

Tal’nerra is having an awful day.

His whole body is aching as he lies on this unfamiliar cold floor, and rather than risk opening his eyes, he tries to think back on how he got here. No sparring, no drinking, no surprise attacks by the children of his friends… what was it?

After Lieca and Theron’s call the day before - or, at least, he thinks it was the day before, Force only knows how long he’s been unconscious -, the Gravestone had been on high alert. The Captains were rather displeased at the idea of their ship’s communication system being compromised, and the techs had been put to work trying to locate the source of the strange signals T7 had picked up. In the meantime, he and Jezhara, Lana and Jaesa had scoured their databases trying to find mentions of the _‘Iokath’_ T7 had mentioned.

It wasn’t a person. It wasn’t a droid like the GEMINIs, like he’d half dreaded. More concerningly, it didn’t seem to be a planet either - unsurprising that the Republic and the Empire would have little knowledge of the planets this far out in the Unknown Regions, but for the Zakuulans on board to draw a blank as well was a little more concerning.

Much like he’s drawing a blank as to how he came to be lying on the floor in the first place. He can hear the deep, familiar rumble of engines beneath his cheek, but he suspects that were he to open his eyes, he would not be lying on the floor of the Gravestone’s mess hall. He draws a deep breath into his lungs, frowning slightly at the ache in his head as he tries to put his muddled memories back into order. The air tastes strange - stale, and slightly metallic, like the buzz in the air after a lightning strike.

Iokath, that was it, they’d been looking for Iokath. It had been a rather unpleasant surprise to find that by looking for the data hidden in the ship’s ancient directories, they had instead activated some kind of override - was Iokath a password? What was the significance of the word? -, and Tal’nerra could still hear the swearing of Vortena and Politryk echoing in his ears as they realised that they were locked out of the ship’s controls by the override.

He rolls onto his back, wincing at a twinge in his hip. It’s slowly coming back to him, the moment of gut-wrenching horror at realising they were trapped on a vaguely intelligent rogue vessel, with no warning as to whether or not it was hostile to its’ passengers. He’d tried to remain calm through all the shouting and the panic, trying to be the voice of reason as they’d realised the ship was preparing to enter hyperspace entirely on its own volition.

He remembers Vette swearing up a storm through the intercom, as the ‘Dark Sanctuary’ lit up like a Corellian fireworks display.

Force, and what then? He only remembers snatches from there out, something about trying trying to stabilise the drive cores, something about rerouting power, lots of yelling, lots of confusion. He remembers Politryk on his back under a console, the panels ripped off and a tangle of wires hanging down as he tried to - in his words - _‘jerryrig a miracle’._ He remembers Skyrii and Jezhara bellowing at each other, toe to toe as they argued about... something, Goddess, he couldn’t even remember what they’d been yelling about, only that the Mandalorian Champion didn’t seem at all cowed by the diminutive sith threatening to behead her for her insolence.

_Iokath._ It rings in his head like a bell, shining like a beacon. Burning like a brand.

He remembers breaking out of hyperspace, standing on the bridge with... actually, he can’t even remember who was on the bridge. Captains Vortena and Politryk, obviously, but... Lana? Maybe? Were Vette and T7 - no, wait, they were downstairs in the Dark Sanctuary, they were on the intercom when it happened-

_Wait._ He remembers.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this!” Captain Politryk had shouted, seated in the navigator’s chair beside Koth while the two of them had tried to wrestle the ship back under control.

“Are you flyboys taking us too close to a star?” Vette had said through the intercom. “We’ve got a massive radiation spike playing havoc with the drive core-”

“There’s nothing, nothing but debris, it’s empty space-”

“Wait!” Oh wait, Lana had been there, her finger extended as she pointed through the viewport with a bleakly grim look on her face. “What’s that?”

There was no star to light the way, so the moment when a massive fissure of light had appeared in the darkness was almost blinding; it had seared across the sky like a wound in space, stretching as far in either direction as they could make out. Then other lines had appeared, other scars of light, branching out in all directions, and an immense and colossal rumble could be heard, as if the cosmos themselves were tearing apart. Everyone on the bridge had put their hands up to their heads, trying to block out the vastness of the sound, but it had permeated every inch of their bodies.

“What the fuck is going on up there?” Tora had said shrilly on the intercom.

“There’s some kind of - _thing,_ dragging us in!” Koth had yelled back. The lights in front of them had continued to spread and grow, and Tal remembers thinking that they looked like the circuit board on some kind of colossal computer chip.

“What, like a black hole?”

“No, jackass, there’s lights!”

“That’s a sun, then, asshole-”

_He remembers._

“It’s not a sun,” he’d said, the dawning horror of what it was that they faced only just beginning to rear back its’ ugly head. It was far, far too big to be a sun, because the only types of stars large enough to be that colossal would have burned them up long before they’d gotten this close. He didn’t even think anyone had heard him. “It’s a cage.”

Everything had gone bright white.

It’s the last thing he remembers.

And now, he is here. Wherever _here_ was. Perhaps he’s still on the floor of the cockpit of the Gravestone, but - somehow -, he doesn’t think he’s quite that lucky.

Well, nothing to it but to start investigating and find out what kind of cage this is. He tries to keep his groan from echoing too loudly in the space as he slowly moves into a sitting position, constructing a mental tally of his limbs as he goes. Nothing seems particularly bruised or injured (though perhaps he fell strangely, as his left arm feels a little odd), and although his lekku are almost buzzing, it’s probably just the rumbling deep, deep below him to blame.

He opens his eyes at last, taking another slow, calming breath; the room before him is most assuredly not the Gravestone, the smooth metal walls suggesting a cell of some kind. He sighs, head drooping, and frowns as he notices that the strange feeling in his lower arm is not due to numbness from having leant on it badly, but is due to the new addition of a brace over his wrist - it doesn’t feel injured, and he still has a relatively strong range of movement outside of the limits of the brace. It’s even tucked neatly into his usual protective bracers, the flashy black and silver standing out against the soft blue of his skin. Perhaps the brace is for support? But who put it there?

Frowning as he starts to scan the room in front of him, he lifts his other wrist to his mouth, trying to activate the commlink in his bracer. “Koth? Lana? Torian? Can anyone hear me?”

Nothing answers him but crackly silence, and he sighs. Well, however he got here, hopefully the others are somewhere different and not trapped in a cell like him. He climbs slowly to his feet as he takes in the room, beginning the well practiced assessment for weaknesses that he might be able to exploit to escape. The panelled walls before him have no visible doors - although logic states that short of some kind of Rakatan teleportation device, the room requires a door by which he must have entered; even so, it’s unpleasant to consider being so confined. He’s briefly thankful that he’s not claustrophobic, but the Force warnings starting to trickle down his lekku gentle reminds him he’s unlikely to be so lucky.

He slowly turns around, blue eyes widening as he realises that there is someone else in the cell with him - it is, however, someone he certainly did not expect to see.

“Empress Vaylin?”

 

* * *

 

Lieca is having a lovely day.

It started off so well, what with Flissa and Theron conspiring to bring her breakfast in bed, and nothing seems so bad when she has flaky pastries and her daughter to cuddle while her husband smiles at them both. She even felt strong enough this morning to shower and wash her hair by herself, a big change from the last week or so. Cera or Theron have been helping her with her hair as required, but it just makes her feel so much better to be able to do it herself.

And if Theron happened to casually slide into the refresher with her, well, she’s fine with that too. It ended up perfectly innocent even, despite the sly grin on his face. It gave her an opportunity to wash his hair as well as her own, happily playing with the strands as he half-heartedly grumbled against her neck and muttered empty threats of retribution between soft kisses. She misses the simple intimacies sometimes - it’s harder to make it not feel _forced_ when she’s not feeling well.

Even Valkorion’s gross whispers aren’t enough to ruin her mood in the early morning after she leaves her rooms, contentedly curling up on the couch in her office with Cera’s head in her lap as they both read over their reports. It’s easier to forget about him with her loved ones close by, a very literal buffer of love and light against the hatred he embodies, and she and Cera spend as much time giggling as though they were teenagers in the Jedi dorm rooms again as they do actually responding to reports like the sensible adults they’re supposed to be.

Around mid-morning, she starts to notice a persistent ache in her shoulder, and realises that Arcann is both awake and grumpily projecting his mood without much in the way of restraint. Possibly accidentally, considering his complete lack of acknowledgement of her gentle enquiries, but she catches a faint trace of frustrated embarrassment from him before his walls slam back into place with the same finality as a child slamming a bedroom door. She sighs, her hands stilling in Cera’s hair, and her twin huffs dramatically. “How can he even be in a bad mood after Calli ravished him last night?” she says grouchily.

Lieca sputters, face burning. “Cera!”

“ _What?_ I know you felt it, it damn woke me up, and I’m further down the chain than you.”

“That’s not the point!” Lieca hisses, although she was fighting not to smile.

Cera sighs again, and is silent for a good few seconds. Finally, in a sly voice, she says “Doc appreciated it.”

_“Cera!”_

“What? At least I have the courtesy to shield my late night romps-”

Lieca covers her face with her hands. “I’m not having this conversation,” she moans.

“Oh, don’t be such an old matron,” Cera teases, poking her in the stomach. “Come on, what’s our little storm cloud up to now? What’s got him grouchy?”

Lieca frowns at her, poking her forehead in retaliation. “Bad pain day,” she says sympathetically. “I’ll try to look in on him later, if he’ll let me.”

Cera rolls her eyes. “It’d be better if we still had Dia here, at least she doesn’t let him sulk. You’re too nice Liss.”

She chooses to ignore her, momentarily distracted by her holocom. “Hmm? Oh, Nadia darling, how are you?”

“Saved by the holo,” Cera mutters.

Her former apprentice appears in the comm, beaming brightly. _“Hello Lieca! Oh, and Master Cera! Oh, I hope I calculated the time difference right, did I wake you?”_

She shakes her head. “No, you did well - it’s almost lunchtime here. How are you, my dear?”

Nadia smiles. _“Quite well thank you. My meetings are done for the day - all these years and it still feels like yesterday when I was appointed as Senator.”_

Lieca smiles. “Your father would be so proud of you, you’ve been so amazing Nadia.”

Nadia ducks her head, clearly embarrassed, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. _“Oh, um, thank you, Master. That means a lot.”_

“Nadia-”

_“I know, I know, you said not to call you that anymore. But you’ll always be my Master. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you, you know that.”_

It’s Lieca’s turn to blush, and she ignores Cera poking her in the arm. “How come _your_ apprentice talks to you nicely?” Cera says, but the pout in her voice is entirely put on.

Lieca opens her mouth to answer, but Nadia beats her to it. “Well, Master Cera, I must say for one thing that my master has never challenged me to a drinking contest,” she says, with all the assumed innocence of a woman who knows precisely how much mischief she’s up to.

Cera groans. “One time, that was _one time,_ and Kira had to go and tell everyone east of the galactic core-”

“Maybe if you’d won, she wouldn’t be so inclined to brag about it,” Lieca says mildly.

“What’s the point of having a twin if you aren’t going to unequivocally support me in my hour of direst need? Here I am, being shamed and maligned, in desperate need of help-”

Nadia coughs. _“Speaking of help,”_ she says, and Lieca notices how merrily her eyes sparkle as Cera continues to grumble to herself, _“how have the shields been working for you? Did you need any upgrades? I can send out more of our engineers if you require them. I know that the last test results we got from Odessen seemed perfectly clear, but I just wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong - we’re improving our shields all the time, and I want you to have the best of them!”_

She smiles. “Nadia, it’s fine. They’ve been working extremely well. If you want the actual numbers though, I’ll ask Calli or Theron to patch them through later from Oggurobb. You know I have no head for all of that. If that’s alright with you?”

_“Sure! Oh, and I’ve had a look at the documents Tai’s been drafting with the Zakuulans.”_ She pulls a datapad out, glancing down at the contents on the screen. _“It all looks good to me - pretty similar to our treaties with the Rift Alliance - and everyone seems happy with the drafts so far. But I think Malita left some notes that the board wants to talk to you about, about the political model they’re looking to establish on Zakuul, so you might want to talk to Tai to get the exact details before you do that. I know you didn’t want to interfere too badly with the process, but they’re starting to get a little worried about being discovered. The Empress is a bit craftier than her brother, and is far more focused on people that used to slip under the radar.”_

Lieca nods. “Zakuul does not need to suffer unduly for the actions of their leaders,” she replies. “I’ll speak to Tai soon, I’m expecting him to call around lunchtime anyway. He likes checking in every few days. Was there anything else?”

Nadia shakes her head. _“No, I think that’s everything. I’ll leave you to it then! Please let me know if there’s anything else that I can help with.”_

“Thank you Nadia. We’ll speak again soon.”

_“See you soon!”_

No sooner does Lieca’s comm deactivate than Cera’s starts ringing, and they exchange a dry look before she answers, using the Force to levitate the comm so it can see them both. “Hey Erika, how’s it going?”

Their cousin waves with her free arm, her other wrapped around the tiny Cathar toddler nestled into her shoulder. _“Hey girls. How’re things?”_

Cera shrugs, ignoring the way Lieca huffs as her head moves on her lap. “Can’t complain I suppose. Where are you and what giant problem do you bring us?”

Erika rolls her eyes. “ _Corellia. And first of all, I do not always bring you problems, so settle down before you start sounding like Garza.”_

“You take that back this instant!”

Lieca interjects wearily. “Children…”

Erika sticks out her tongue, and it’s like they are kids again rather than women in their mid to late thirties. _“And it’s all fine here, just checking in so Dad gets off my back. You know how he worries about you all, even if you have technically ditched the Republic or betrayed us or defected or whatever they’re calling it now. Aric’s been assigned here for some Senator’s guard duty, and then Elara invited me to stay with her in-laws, so I’m currently lounging in Cantarus’ living room.”_

Cera snorts. “Yeah? And how often has Ellaz threatened to kick you out again?”

Erika rolls her eyes. _“Only twice. Today. Luckily, I bought a mountain of those noodles she likes from that market in CoCo Town with me, but Aric’s been giving me some serious side-eye about them. He doesn’t understand. What is it with cats and spice anyway?”_

Aric’s head suddenly appears in the frame, clearly having walked up behind Erika on the couch. _“I heard that,”_ he mutters grumpily, nuzzling her cheek before looking at the holocom. _“Afternoon Cera. Lieca.”_

“Morning,” the twins echo as one.

Erika rolls her eyes, offering their son to his dad for a quick nuzzle almost off-handedly. _“Don’t mind him, he has to be in session with the Councillors today,”_ she says, grinning with a flash of teeth at her husband, who glares back. _“He’s just a grumpy kitty.”_

_“Thank you, love, for once again reducing my race to the level of your mother’s domesticated house cat.”_

_“Hmm, is that why you almost picked a fight with Mr Fluffles last time we visited?”_

Lieca smiles at the scene, a little amused at the looks the couple are giving each other. “Did you need anything else from us about the Council session?” she asks, gently redirecting the conversation before the two of them start getting too rowdy.

Erika shakes her head, attention drawn back to the comm, and swats at Aric as he passes behind her. _“No, we should be fine - just standing at parade rest while the politicians argue.”_ She snorts in apparent amusement. _“Ellaz has been ranting about it whenever she’s home - it’s one of the few things she and Aric agree on, actually. I kinda wish you were here to help smooth things over, but I know it’s not ideal timing. Plus, you know, even if you were still on the Jedi Council, it certainly isn’t your job to fix the an internal mess like the Corellian Council is causing. Don’t fret Lieca.”_

Markku suddenly reaches up to grab Erika’s ear, and Lieca winces sympathetically at the same time as their cousin does. “Are you sure? I know we haven’t exactly made things easier…”

Erika gives her a look that doesn’t move even as she pulls her son’s hand off her ear. _“Lieca,”_ she says, in the sort of tone that makes new recruits start to sweat in the drillyard, _“choosing to play nice with Acina may have ruffled more than a few feathers, but honestly? It’s not like it’s the only thing that pushed them all. Saresh was… it wasn’t a good choice.”_

Aric yells something unintelligible from the background, and Erika snorts again. _“And I’m obviously glad you survived.”_ She sighs, her expression turning a little grim. _“But Dad’s been raging ever since that day, even if he can’t technically acknowledge any of you as family. He’s playing it up like it’s the GenoHaradan that’s the problem, and he’s got Trant on his side about that too, which is a miracle in itself given how much Trant has been in Saresh’s pocket these last few years. It’s all uneasy and too political and polite and everyone’s just trying to restart the Empire-Republic war and just… they’re all fucking idiots, honestly.”_ She realises at the last minute that Markku is listening in avidly, glancing down at the bundle in her arms. _“Don’t repeat that word, kit.”_

Markku yawns broadly in response, little fangs glinting in the light.

_“So,”_ Erika says, apparently deciding the situation to be defused, _“if you wanna pick fights with Zakuul to keep them off our backs while we make our own stupid choices, more power to you.”_

Erika then looks to the side at the vague grumblings audible through the comm from the direction Aric vanished into. _“Oh right, thanks babe.”_ She looks back at them, clearing her throat and adopting a far more pompous tone. _“Grandmaster Hervoz said to send his warmest regards, since he can’t exactly use the official channels. The whole message had something about healing treatises and the history of Jedi partnership, blah blah blah, I don’t remember. But I’ll forward through his message.”_ She pulls a face. “ _How do you even make friends with all of these people? Do all Jedi just know each other?”_

Cera smirks, reaching up to tweak her nose before she can respond to their cousin. “Natural charm,” her twin says loftily. “What can I say, we’re just gifted like that.”

Erika rolls her eyes, but still clearly smiling before her son starts wriggling for attention. _“Uh-huh. Butter wouldn’t melt in that mouth, would it now?”_ She pulls a face at Markku, eliciting a round of purr-like giggles from the boy. _“We know all about that, don’t we kit?”_

“Just wait ‘til he’s old enough to get into the fridge by himself,” Cera warns. “Then you can see how long the butter lasts.”

_“Your Aunty Cera doesn’t know what an idiom is, kit, isn’t that silly,” s_ he coos. _“Anyway, I’ll let you know if the Council implodes in the next couple of days- knowing your crew, you might know before I do, but we’ll see. Maybe I’ll race your slicers. And guess I better go feed this little one - oh, hey Cole, say hi to my cousins!”_

A distant male voice echoes through the comm, the speaker unseen but evidently passing through the room. _“Hi Lieca, hi Cera. Hope you’re well!”_

“You too!” they chime back, ignoring Erika’s nose wrinkling at them when they speak in unison.

_“Stay safe girls! I’ll call back later!”_

The comm then disconnects, and Cera pulls her comm back into her hand, smirking. “See Liss? Told you not to worry. Erika’ll be fine.”

Lieca rubs her forehead. “I know,” she says softly. “But there’s still… something. Something bigger going on, I can’t quite figure it out though.”

Cera reaches up to catch her hand and squeeze it, before quickly swiveling up to sit beside her instead of lying across her on the couch. “I know, hun. You think I can’t tell when you’re upset? But whatever it is, it’s too vague to know what it is. For all we know, it’s just that ass in your head planning something.”

Lieca looks down at the floor, her hands in her lap. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she says quietly.

Cera immediately leans over to kiss her forehead, smiling when she gets her attention. “I know. Anything that makes him happy makes the rest of us unhappy. But we can’t do anything about it right now, when he’s being so unsurprisingly intentionally vague. What we can do is go have lunch with the kids… and fine, I’ll let you check in on Arcann if it makes you feel better.”

She smiles, already feeling cheered up at the prospect of a meal with her family. More time with Flissa is always a good thing. “Lunch sounds good.”

Valkorion can be ignored for a little while longer - as long as he’s not doing anything here, right?

 

* * *

 

Vaylin wakes up slowly, long years of brutal conditioning keeping her from making her movements too obvious, lest anyone be watching. Her breathing doesn’t change, she doesn’t jerk awake - she lies silently, unmoving, sending her senses out to ensure no one is standing over her with scalpels and needles and stun-rods. She had learned a long, long time ago that lashing out in a blind panic never did anything but make it worse for her, so she learned to play by their rules.

Cautious. Waiting. Ready for the moment to strike.

Her first careful assessment reveals no immediate threat, and she breathes out just as slowly. Maybe it has been years since she was trapped with her father’s stooges - but it’s also been years since she’s woken up on the floor, her body aching all over. Even in her worst moments in the Spire, she always made it to some sort of bedding.

The Spire. _Spire_. Rhymes with _fire_. Perhaps she should set it on fire. Perhaps she should call it home. But it doesn’t feel like home. Nothing feels like home. Except for the agony of her weakened body screaming at her, she feels nothing. Home is supposed to be safe, home is supposed to be comfortable, she doesn’t feel that anywhere. Everyone always says home is where your people are - but she doesn’t have any people. They all left.

She is alone.

SCORPIO had been nattering about the Eternal Fleet for days, weeks even. Promises, promises, empty hollow promises about fealty and freedom, about her father and gods much older than Zakuul, bah! What did she care? Every time SCORPIO called the stupid fleet droids her children, it just drove the nails in a little deeper. No matter how much training she did, or how many skytroopers she killed for fun and to make as much noise as possible, nothing drowned it out. Not even the deaths of the Knights who doubted her - hard to scream when your throat was being squeezed. Even when she was feeling lonely, she was never actually physically alone.

Vaylin had never really been alone. Always lonely, but never actually alone. Always silent guards, or researchers, or _scientists_ , or public rabble, or whoever else wants to sit and stare and watch her. Look out for Vaylin, watch out for Vaylin, see whatever she’s going to do next. Make notes and scribble threats and gossip as though she can’t hear all of it, like a knife through her chest. Never let anyone in close enough to actually use a knife. Never again. She has enough marks.

Her arms itch.

She hates Zakuul, hates the Throne, hates everything. But it’s hers, it’s all she has, it’s all she has left. No family, nobody who cares, nobody at all. Might as well have a Throne, even as she hates to actually sit on it. It feels too suffocating, like Father hovering over her shoulder, and she feels suddenly ill, the all-too-familiar manifestation of her temper as lightning running down her arms and burning her scars. She wants to run, wants to be free. Wants to remember why in Aivela’s fucking name she’s lying on the floor in a place she doesn’t remember getting to.

She grits her teeth and drags herself away from her pathetic moping, back to the matter at hand. If she concentrates, the last thing she remembers is… a flash of light? What happened?

She finally risks opening her eyes, and her temper doesn’t improve at the unfamiliar sight of the room around her. Why is she here!

SCORPIO had been talking about the Fleets, about a signal, and that made her paranoid that the Alliance was trying to do something to steal her ships - just like they’d stolen her family, just like they’d stolen everything from her. They weren’t taking her ships as well, oh no, she was going to smash that signal into tiny, jagged pieces, and so out she went in her flagship - not as shiny or fancy as _Arcann’s_ , no, of course not that would be ridiculous, of course _she_ had to settle since the Alliance had stolen all of their money - and then… screaming?

The engineers said the ship was moving by itself, even after she killed three of them for the lies. She destroyed the GEMINI captain in a rage as the ship had left hyperspace and then…

She woke up here. There was a bright light and no matter how hard she fought - not in terror, never in terror _they won’t have her again, she’ll never be restrained again_ \- she fell unconscious. And this is _not_ the bridge of her ship.

Temper spiking, the crackling enough to almost make her hair stand on end, she suddenly moves to sit up, eyes wildly searching the wall in front of her for a door. Or a window. Anything that made this place seem less like a prison. _Less like a cage._

She snarls immediately at the smooth metal walls, and spins around to search for a way _out_ … and stops.

Seated against the far wall - as far away from her as is physically possible in the confined space, actually - is someone else. A blue twi’lek, in rather striking clothing in black and silver. Zakuulan colours that she’s usually heartily sick of, but somehow the blue of his skin makes it seem less obvious; it’s certainly more striking than it would be on a human, in any case. He appears to be meditating or something - eyes closed, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees. There’s something weirdly calming about the energy he radiates, almost unthinkably peaceful for someone trapped in a cage with her. He should be terrified, he should be clawing at the walls in a panic, desperate to get away from her!

She frowns, the lightning fizzling away and dripping from her fingers like water; she shakes them to disperse it entirely, her arms aching even from the short burst of anger. She wasn’t quiet, but he hasn’t reacted to her presence, and she cocks her head to the side in confusion and suspicion. He doesn’t _look_ like a jailer, or an accomplice, or a scientist. A jailer or a kidnapper would look more thuggish, she images, and no scientist would be stupid enough to get locked in a cell with her.

The last scientist who was foolish enough to spend time alone with her certainly regretted it - in the moments before she’d killed him.

She shakes her head, eyes narrowing as she glares at him in confusion. He looks... nice. She’s never spent much time with aliens, but he seems... handsome, perhaps? Gods, she doesn’t know, what do people look for in others? His facial structure is certainly pleasing to the eye, like the socialites who attract the most attention at Arc- _her_ galas. He doesn’t look threatening in any way, and he certainly doesn’t seem to be dismayed at her presence. He just seems very mundanely normal, in a handsome sort of way. Not that she was looking at him like that.

Although, he _does_ look somewhat… familiar?

Her eyes narrow further as she reaches out with her senses, and even that brief fluttering touch against his shields is electrifying - not painfully so, just... _intense_. It’s been a long time since she’s felt the touch of another’s power, longer still since that touch was anything but cruel and violent, intended to crack and break and dominate her. This is just as calm and mundane as he is, and the difference is startling. She snarls in surprise, leaping to her feet and scrambling backwards.

Wait... she _does_ know him.

_Jedi._

The Jedi who destroyed the Balmorran Star Fortress, and fought the Voss Exarch, who was _friends with the Outlander. Enemy!_

Her heart is beating in her throat, threatening to choke her, and the scars along her arm are throbbing with her pulse; there’s a cold sweat on her skin, clammy and gross. She realises she doesn’t have her lightsaber, but that’s never stopped her destroying a threat before. She is the _Empress_ , she can’t be stopped!

She draws her hand back, lightning forming again in warped crackles of gold over the stark black of her tattoos, and the man-

... _sighs?_

“A simple _‘hello’_ would suffice,” he says calmly, slowly opening his eyes to focus on her.

Vaylin freezes in place, her arm still outstretched as the lightning licks around her fingers, crackling and hissing. Her first instinct - that he is intentionally mocking her, sneering at her through sugared words - jars painfully against the unflappable sense of peace he projects. She has never known any one so serene, especially not around her. Everyone fears her, she knows this - she can always taste it in the air, the subtle tang of their discomfort, sour and hot as they desperately try to tiptoe along the line they think she finds acceptable.

He has none of that. She’s never realised what a difference it makes, how wholly unsettling it is to not have the safety net of someone’s fear to use against them. He is quiet. He is calm. It’s like waking up soaked to the bone, realising for the first time ever that it’s not raining when all she’s ever known is rain.

He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, and his lekku slides from his shoulder. “Or are we skipping the pleasantries?” he asks, his voice a pleasant tenor. “I tried to move out of the way so I would not startle you - I apologise that I was not successful.”

She pauses. He has... soft eyes, kind eyes, though she can’t tell the colour from this distance. He doesn’t seem to look at her like she’s a rabid beast. “What?” she snaps, refusing to lower her arm, even as the lightning starts to fade in her confusion.

He shrugs, not making any move to defend himself at all through her display of hostility; as if he trusts her not to hurt him. No, that can’t be it, maybe he has a death wish - _ha_ , or maybe he’s trying to deceive her, yes, that’s is! She’s not at all unsettled by him, she knows what game he’s playing. “The room was not large enough for me to move further away,” he explains, “so I apologise if my proximity upsets you.”

She narrows her eyes, well aware of his schemes now. “You work with the Outlander,” she responds, determined to stay focused. “Why are you here?”

He frowns back. “I was actually hoping you could tell me - I only woke up a short time ago myself, but I confess I have no idea where we are.”

Vaylin bristles. “Why should _I_ know?” she snarls. “You’re the one who trapped me here!”

He shakes his head, her gaze dropping to his lekku as they move accordingly. Aliens are strange. “Why would I trap you and myself in the process?” he says calmly. “The last thing I remember is being on my ship before being knocked out by a strange bright light. And then I woke up here. With you.”

She glares at him. “You’re not worried about being trapped with the Empress of Zakuul?” she says, voice syrupy-sweet.

Hmm, syrup. She misses her maple donuts already.

He shakes his head again. “Well, you didn’t kill me as soon as you woke up,” he says. “I consider that a rather beneficial start, and it makes me infinitely more useful to you. I think we have other things to worry about hmm?”

This man is a little infuriating. “We? There is no we. You work with the Outlander, with my Father,” she snarls, voice absolutely not breaking at the last. She’s not afraid of him, Valkorion can never touch her again. She is _free_.

Just... not physically free right now. But soon. She’ll tear down the walls if she has to.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

The twi’lek frowns again. What was his name again? Tal something? “Actually, we currently try to do the _opposite_ of whatever he tries to tell us to do,” he says, sounding faintly annoyed. “He is a vile man, and his schemes are best ignored where possible. I’m sorry that’s not really an option for you.”

She lifts her chin. “I am perfectly capable of ignoring whoever I please,” she says testily. “ _He_ is no different.”

The twi’lek shrugs. “Well, unless you brought a piece of him with you, he’s not here. So that makes it easier.”

She hisses at him, trying to draw herself up even taller. “Why would I have a piece of that monster?” she snarls. “He’s in _your_ precious _Outlander’s_ head. Not mine!”

The man actually looks sad for a moment, and it makes her pause. “I don’t think we’re lucky enough that there’s only one piece of him out there,” he says quietly, and she has to repress the urge to start scratching at her arms again. Valkorion is not here. He’s _not_. She is _free_.

He continues, unaware of her reaction. “But I suppose that’s why you’ve been targeting the Emperor’s vaults. Very clever, to go after his treasures directly.”

She glares at him. “I do not want his treasures,” she snaps, ignoring the fact the stupid Alliance has apparently been keeping tabs on her. “If _you_ knew where they were, why didn’t _you_ do it?”

He actually smiles, and it makes her pause again. He looks... he looks much nicer when he smiles, more relaxed. Is it a trick? Have they sent him in to ensnare her with his charming smiles and calm demeanour? Because it won’t work. She’s much smarter than all of them, they can’t fool her. “Because we didn’t know. It took awhile to actually realise that’s what you were doing, but the connection was eventually obvious. Very nice work.”

She’s not at all pleased at the vague hint of praise. That would be ridiculous. “I am _Empress_ ,” she says shortly. “Of _course_ I knew.”

He nods, and it almost looks like a respectful bow. He’s very strange. Very suspicious. “Of course,” he murmurs, before slowly moving to stand up while she watches him warily.

He’s far taller than she was expecting, and something about the way she now has to look up at him, even with him across the room, annoys her.

He then dusts off his pants, and she realises his lightsaber is missing too. Or wait, he uses two, doesn’t he? “So, Empress,” he says, turning to face her after scanning the room. “What now?”

She wishes she had an answer.

 

* * *

 

Geralt stumbles into the cantina, trying to look for all the world like a drunk, swaggering idiot rather than stone-cold sober. It always helps keeps people off their guard, making it easier for him to swipe their credits, their secrets, or even their lives if the occasion calls for it.

Luckily, this time it’s just information gathering. He’s not really had time today to go over his reports from Port Nowhere - too many adorable kids clamouring for his attention - and well, people expect him to practically live here anyway. He’s always been good at pretending to be what people expect of him. Helps to fly under the radar so they never see him coming.

He winks at the waitress on the way in, faintly amused at how she nearly drops the tray she’s holding, before scanning the room to try to find an unoccupied table.

And of course, the only almost free table near the back wall is currently occupied by a rather solemn looking ex-Emperor of Zakuul, apparently pretending he can’t hear the noise as he nurses the one glass in front of him. He thought Arcann had been holed up in his rooms all day, sulking for one reason or another, but apparently he must have ventured out. And now he’s sitting in the cantina to brood. Wonderful.

Geralt rolls his eyes. Cera’s nickname for Arcann as a little storm cloud gets more accurate by the day. He’s not particularly fond of the man - hard to be, considering how much irresponsible murderous shit he’s been up to over the last five years, let alone what he did to Calli - but at least he doesn’t want to punch his face in for that anymore.

Calli at least finally seems a bit more relaxed, though he doesn’t want to think on the reason for that too much or he really will punch Arcann. Calli and Arcann are both consenting adults, and she certainly doesn’t need him to step into the middle of whatever awkward dance the two of them are doing around each other - but he’s still fully prepared to kill him if he hurts her. The rest of the galaxy would thank him for it after all.

Although, Lieca would get all upset. She would do that sad disappointed face, and then Theron would get annoyed and protective, and then he would feel like an ass, and just... ugh, it’s not worth it. Plus there’s all that weird Force shit going on - judging from Cera and Thexan’s previous responses to the injuries of their respective twins, it might not be the best idea to hurt Arcann while he’s tied to Lieca.

He really hopes no-one else has figured that out and tries to use it to their advantage. He doesn’t want to have to get in line if someone messes with his favourite Jedi. And it’d be a long line too - Lieca collects friends like some people collect jewellery heists.

Or wait, that’s just him. Whatever. He’s winning this round of Planetary Heist Bingo, no matter what Risha says. Next date night will be on her, damnit.

Regardless, there’s nowhere else to sit that’s not out of the way, and Arcann doesn’t really have a right to protest anyway. He smoothly slides onto the bench on the other side and other end of the table, amused at the way Arcann jerks his head up to stare at him. “Hellooo, your Imperial Majesty,” he says cheerfully, already starting to rummage in his pockets for the various tools and datapads he needs today.

He’s a little intrigued at how Arcann seems to flinch at the title, eyes tight as he stares at him before looking back at his glass.

Geralt rolls his eyes, fingers catching on the tiny jewels in his pocket as he brings them into view. “Should I have added a few epithets to your name? Or are social niceties still beneath you?” He immediately starts fiddling with the edges of the necklace, trying to pull apart the gems to reach the dataspike hidden underneath, not really expecting a response.

It does surprise him to eventually hear a quiet “ _hello_ ” from the other end of the table, though it sounds equally confused and annoyed. Success!

He finally pries the little dataspike free, gleefully crowing as he immediately plugs it in to his datapad before realising he has Arcann’s attention. Those piercing blue eyes are a little unsettling, though he does understand the appeal to the man’s looks. If Calli wasn’t so obviously tangled up with him (probably literally, ew, thanks brain for that image, gross), and if it wasn’t for the whole _‘mass murderer ex-Emperor’_ thing, he probably would’ve made a move or two himself. If Calli keeps going back to him, he must be at least decent in the sack. “What?”

Arcann just stares silently for awhile, his gaze eventually dropping to the datapad. “Is this something you do often?” he asks eventually.

Geralt blinks in confusion before looking at the necklace again, taking a few moments for his thoughts to rapidly connect the dots. Calli always preferred smuggling her dataspikes in her jewellery for the social galas they’ve cased together… so it’s likely she did the same on Zakuul. Something in the way Arcann asks warns him to tread cautiously though. “Pull apart jewellery? Of course. How else am I supposed to sell it if I don’t dismantle the important parts? What kind of amateur thief do you think I am?”

Arcann’s brow crinkles and he smirks at him. “I could wear these pieces, but I don’t think they go with my outfit. And too conspicuous. Risha prefers gifts that are slightly more subtle - and less recognisable.” He winks salaciously. “Course, I could always wear them with nothing, then I don’t have to worry about coordinating.”

It’s Arcann’s turn to blink, immediately followed by a vivid scowling blush, and to his amusement the other man doesn’t ask any further questions, staring back down at his glass. He rolls his eyes again and picks up the newly connected datapad.

He might not have such a sophisticated system as Holiday set up for him on Port Nowhere - Risha probably wouldn’t let him have anything other than a stodgy old Geonosian matron for an AI, anyway -, but he’s by no means turning a blind eye to all of the shady deals going on there. There’s a lot more paperwork involved in being a de facto leader of the galaxy’s criminal elements than he’d prefer, but if it keeps the fucking idiots in line, it’s a small price to pay.

Someone has to keep an eye on the Hutts, and all the factions splitting out from Zakuul. Shan’s not too bad about keeping track of the worse elements of the galaxy - and he takes a moment to reminisce on one such enjoyable encounter - but with the return of Shan’s now-wife and the loss of his SIS resources, he’s growing a little complacent. Shan was always so good at dishing the dirt for him, whereas he has to pry and bargain and weedle it out of his own damn sister - what’s the point of having family on the inside if you have to do everything legit, anyway? Which all leaves Port Nowhere to pick up the pieces.

He can’t quite put his finger on what’s wrong, but Zakuul is definitely up to something. Lieca might dream of peace and alliances, but he knows better. Let her have her diplomatic summits - but it’s his job to stand in the shadows behind the throne and blackmail the idiots into playing along. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

He’s nowhere near Calli’s level of skill at slicing and information analysis - even Vitalia couldn’t outhack that girl, and Tali could run circles around him - but he’s still good enough to read between the lines on all of the revenue streams of his lists from Nar Shaddaa to know that the Star Cluster Casino is taking bigger cuts again. Growing pirate fleets on Rishi, additional guards on shipments from Dubrillion, tracking down those who tried to double-cross him on the Gilded Star job - sending off enough orders to keep his team busy for weeks, and just off-balance enough to make sure they don’t think of double-crossing him first. Or again, as the case may be. Luckily it just takes keeping Ivory under his thumb to scare half of them into submission, and his reputation does the rest.

He tinkers for a good long while, flicking through files and toying with the loose gemstones as he thinks; every now and then he feels Arcann’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up again except to signal to the waitress for another drink. It’s nothing but a non-alcoholic cider, but he’s got the waitress on his payroll, and she always serves it in an ale glass to help keep up the pretense that he’s sloshed off his face. He staggers off to the refresher once, leaving his things scattered about in plain sight, and to his annoyance he doesn’t get any takers coming to snoop while he’s out of the room. Not even Arcann glances over at his mess.

He’s beginning to wonder if today is going to be a quiet day as he stumbles back to the table - circumventing past the jukebox, of course, he needs to reset it to play _What’s New Lothcat_ a half dozen times in a row - and he settles in to focus specifically on the Alliance operations, scowling as he tries to edge around Calli’s iron grip on their security systems. Sweet-talking Holiday gives him a back door every now and then, but Calli’s never been one to make things easy, and he finds himself hiding a smile as he bypasses one of the security locks.

The idealists always forget to look inwards, and it ends up being his job to keep an eye on their internal operations, running his eyes over the reports of their own staff and shipments, making notes as he goes. Most of the people they employ are extremely loyal, but he’s had to step in a lot more recently. Between him and Hylo, they’ve got most of the hooligans under control, and the rest they send to Aygo.

If they get that fucker Valkorion sorted, it’ll be much easier to start rounding things off, but in the meantime it’s that awkward limbo between _“we need help”_ and _“don’t start getting ideas”._ Both Lieca and Cera don’t want to make the Alliance a permanent establishment, but the longer they wait, the more comfortable people get.

The most fun part about it all is flirting outrageously with Holiday to be allowed into the base’s security system, chuckling to himself at her puffed up outrage in her sharp text responses... but the font type alone shows she’s actually flattered. And once he’s in, that leaves him in the perfect position to spy on the group at the bar, his actual purpose for coming here in the first place.

Idiots think just because someone’s working at a distance that they can’t be heard. Do they forget the bartender’s on his payroll? Fucking morons. And just in case she’s been swayed (unlikely, he’s far prettier than all of them), there’s the base’s cameras as well. From back at this table, he can’t hear a thing - but he can hear through the cameras, connected through his datapad, and turned to a low enough volume that no-one else should be able to overhear with the music blaring from the jukebox as a cover.

He’s still making notes as he listens in, pretending to absently focus on the jewellery - as though uncut diamonds were his true focus, but not everyone has his eye for obvious fakes - and waiting for them to reveal what they’ve actually been doing while out on patrol. If any of them have been slipping notes to Zakuul, running goods through Odessen like they’re their own private smuggling warehouse… he just needs that moment of proof before he acts. Otherwise everyone starts jumping at shadows, and it just gets messy. Better to wait and not reveal how closely he’s been watching them. It’s really just easier if everyone thinks him the flirty drunken rogue starting a ruckus over nothing.

_“Better her than the little redhead, eh?”_

_“Fuck, she’s got a mouth on her. Bet she’s good with it, though.”_

He stills, whole body tensing with cold hatred as he realises that they’re now discussing what sounds like Calli, and discretely increases the volume in the tiny device hidden in his ear. Have they figured out he’s watching them?

_“She’d just as likely bite your cock off as suck it.”_

_“Ay, but those tiny little outfits she wears around the base? She’s asking for it. All the snarling, it’s just for show, she wants it bad.”_

_Or_ , it’s just two of them being idiots who’d rather make crude comments about a pretty girl, and he breathes through his nose to try to rein in his temper. It’s not the first time he’s had to listen in to some schmuck being revolting about one of his favourite girls, but it doesn’t make it anymore pleasant to listen to. He’s almost got everything he needs from the group as a whole anyway, just a few more minutes.

Then he’ll make them pay. Gotta do it proper, follow the rules, don’t go shanking assholes in the cantina when he knows it’ll upset Lieca-

_“Yeah, but you know she’s fucking around with our dearly dethroned ex-emperor.”_

_“What, so she’s a fucking gold digger, don’t mean she doesn’t need a good fuck - or are you gonna tell me she fucks that ugly bastard for his personality?”_

-and he’s already drafting his excuses to both Lieca _and_ Cera as he starts to push his tools out of the way. He’s started a brawl for far lesser reasons than this, the girls will understand. At least there’s his proof that the idiot pilots have forgotten he’s here, because no-one’s dumb enough to start shit like that about Calli when he’s around.

_“Whatever, man, you wanna take a slice of the Emperor’s whore, that’s your dick on the line, I ain’t touching that.”_

Geralt realises three things in quick succession.

One - he’s going to test exactly how quickly he can break someone’s face with his bare hands.

Two - Arcann was apparently eavesdropping on his eavesdropping.

And three - pissed off Force users are _far_ faster than he is, and the culprit has been smashed into the nearest wall before he can even blink.

Geralt leaps out of his chair just as the bartender shrieks, ducking out of the way of the glass shards from the bottles smashed by the airborne body flying past her into the mirrored glass behind her. And a good thing he moved too, since Arcann almost flipped the table when he stood up, clearly furious.

He realises that he is far more intimidating when he’s advancing on some fucking moron with an angry ex-Emperor behind him, although he’s fairly sure the only reason he was in front was because Arcann was a little stunned at the suddenness of his own reaction. The idiot’s buddies scatter immediately (closely followed by most of the bar’s patrons), but Geralt already knows their names, so he lets them go. The near unconscious man against the wall is his concern, along with his friend cowering on the ground with his hands on his head. Why is it always the ones he’s already watching? Fucking dumbasses.

But again, he was too concerned with everything else to remember Arcann doesn’t need proximity to act, and the man starts slowly sliding up the wall, looking more than a little terrified as his hands move to his neck. He isn’t even sure which one is which, whether the one being suffocated is the one who wanted to make a move on Calli, or whether it’s the one who called her a whore - either way, Arcann is clearly out for blood.

Change of tactics it is, and _fast_. Although he fully understands Arcann’s angry reaction - anyone who wants to protect Calli’s reputation that ferociously is alright with him after all - it might not be the best idea to kill the moron just for being an idiot. Somewhat more cynical people might think it’s his own reputation he’s protecting, but Geralt isn’t blind - he’s seen how Arcann looks at Calli. “Hey!” he snaps, grabbing Arcann’s shoulder when he doesn’t respond.

Blue eyes snap to his, and for a brief moment he remembers that this man until recently controlled the entire galaxy, and he has every right to be pants-shittingly terrified of having that anger turned in his direction, but for now he stands his ground. “Look, I’m as pissed as you are, but you can’t just go killing every jerk that thinks poorly about her,” he says before grinning, though he’s fairly sure it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Save some for the rest of us eh?”

Arcann glares at him, his blue eyes smouldering so ferociously that it almost looks like there’s a flicker of golden flames in the depths - but maybe that’s just the neon lights in the bar. “They wouldn’t be the first people I’ve killed for her,” he snarls, his voice almost rabid, before he seems to realise the implications of what he’s said and his cheeks flush an angry red.

Huh. Interesting… “And how’d that go for you?” he drawls.

Apparently that hits the mark, as Arcann angrily looks away, and he chances a quick look back to realise the man has apparently passed out - and pissed himself - from fear and he wrinkles his nose. “Just… get out of here alright. I’ll fix this up. Go cool off somewhere. _Now._ ” Arcann continues to stare at him, but the idiot pinned to the wall suddenly falls to the ground. A good start. “Or do you need a kiss goodbye first?”

Arcann glares at him, shrugging off his hand from his shoulder. “Do not touch me,” he mutters angrily.

He rolls his eyes again. “Love you too, sugar,” he replies sarcastically, waiting for Arcann to look at him again before he continues, tone serious. “Look, when you react like this, it’s gonna find its way back to her, and then she’ll find out what these assholes are saying about her. And then she’ll get upset, and then we get upset. So clear off, and let me fix it now, and learn to keep your bloody temper under control, okay?”

Arcann doesn’t need to know he was going to break the men in half himself. At least he’s a bit slower about it - and since people already know he and Calli are close, there’s less _gossip_ about it. Arcann doing it inspires more gossip, which is the last thing they need when the two of them are clearly still trying to figure out exactly what they are to each other.

He hopes they figure it out soon - Calli’s lost expression makes him want to break things.

But at the mention of Calli’s feelings being hurt, Arcann does look a little guilty, and he feels an odd flash of compassion for the ass. Fucking stars, they’re both in so deep, it’s a little ridiculous. “Go on, get.”

He waits until Arcann leaves the room to survey the mostly empty room again, making sure one of Hylo’s people is there to check over the bartender, before moving over to crouch in front of the one conscious dickhead who was being crude about his best friend, who is still cowering against the bar and sobbing incoherently while his friend sprawls passed out in a puddle of piss and broken glass. “So,” he says casually, lifting the man’s chin with his vibroknife, “I think you and I are overdue for a little chat.”

Behind him, back on the table, his scattered tech lies forgotten. And his datapad flashes silently, a single warning glowing ominously on the screen unnoticed.

_Gravestone - missing from last known coordinates._

_Eternal Fleet - missing from last known coordinates._

_Please advise._

_Urgent._


	39. Progress

Calli has been awake for hours by the time the early morning sunshine becomes an unbearable nuisance against her screens, and the growling of her stomach becomes unavoidable; she doesn’t _want_ to acknowledge that she’s been up half the night and that her eyes are gritty and sore, or that she’s actually super famished to the point of being cranky (hungry? Angry? Hangry, that’s the word Cera uses, she’s gonna have to steal that) and it takes Holiday gently prodding her towards the door with the news that her family is on the move to admit defeat.

Between scouring all the star charts and data she can find to try to track the Gravestone after they _finally_ realised it was missing, and then reading over the reports Geralt tried to hide about whatever shit he started in the cantina last night, she’s exhausted and feeling like a failure and frankly she just wants to go back to sleep.

Nothing, she found _nothing_ about the Gravestone’s location. Last data signal was from nearly an entire fucking day ago in a previously uncharted star system and no-one even noticed the disruption in the signal and she’s just... so _frustrated_ that she can’t find it. Holiday’s sweet reassurances only make her more annoyed - she knows she’s only trying to help but the whole situation is so irritating. This is her _job_ , the one thing she’s actually good at, and she’s let her family down, she’s let the Alliance down, and gods, what if everyone is _dead_? What if the Gravestone has been destroyed, and they’ve lost the one thing that gave them an edge against the Eternal Fleet? What if Tal and Vette and Sky and Raj and everyone she cares about on that damn boat have been captured and tortured and _fuck_.

And the worst part? No one will blame her. Everyone will rush to reassure her and placate her and promise that everything’s going to be fine and that she hasn’t fucked up, even though she _has_ fucked up. She’s miserable and frustrated and she’ll have to deal with Lieca’s worried face and false reassurances that _‘no, everything’s fine sweetheart, you’ve done so well’_ and _damnit_.

She can’t even just stay in her room and mope, Holiday’s such a snitch and would absolutely tell on her. The last thing she wants is for Lieca to fuss over her when Lieca’s been so weak lately herself and this whole mess is partially her fault to start with. So she needs to go and eat something, and at least try to put on a brave face, and just hope that nobody mentions the Gravestone or she might burst into tears.

Half an hour to socialise and eat and pretend nothing is wrong - she can manage that, right?

But then as she’s walking to breakfast, she realises that Arcann is just a little ways ahead of her in the hallway, and that is something she can deal with. “Hey!” she calls, stomping over to him while he turns in surprise.

Huh. He almost looks worse than she feels, as though he barely slept too. That’s impressive. What the fuck’s got him all in a twist? And is he cradling his robotic arm? “Callistra?”

“What the hell were you and Geralt doing last night?” she snaps, hands on her hips. “Starting a fucking brawl in the cantina - what are you, twelve?”

She’s actually a little frightened at how his expression changes, his eyes narrowing in clear anger for a moment. “Why are you asking me about this?” he says.

She gestures to the datapad she’s carrying - it’s not so bad if she brings her work to breakfast, right? “Geralt was trying to hide the reports but he’s never been able to block me out of anything,” she says, lifting her chin for a moment. “He was trying to eavesdrop on some fucking dickheads he’s been scouting for days, and then _you_ decided to deal with it by just throwing them into the wall? What the fuck is with that?”

Arcann frowns, expression tight. “Your friend made it perfectly clear that this is not your concern,” he answers. “It does not matter.”

He starts to turn away and she grabs his arm, momentarily forgetting his hatred for unexpected contact until he tenses, and for a split second she thought he was going to grab her in return. “Do _not_ surprise me,” he growls.

Damn him for being hot even like that, she’s supposed to be pissed! “ _Fine_ ,” she snaps, politely taking a half-step back in mild apology. “But don’t think you’re off the hook for this. You starting shit like that ends up getting back to Lieca, and everyone starts questioning her, and it just makes her look bad. The fucking last thing she needs right now! _Scyva_ , can’t you just learn to control your temper?”

He’s looming over her again, and she’s pretty sure he barely realises he’s doing it now, but there’s something tight in his jaw as he looks at her. It almost looks like Geralt’s face when he’s holding himself back from saying something. But what the fuck would he have to hide about dickheads running contraband between Odessen and Zakuul?

“If you have questions, ask your friend,” he says eventually. “I will not talk about this further.”

She’s about to ask him again when they’re both distracted by a blue blur shrieking his name and racing down the corridor to jump into his arms. _“Uncle Arcann!”_

Calli steps back immediately, feeling awkward as she spots Thexan and Ona’la down the hall waving at her while Anya snuggles into Arcann’s arms, already chattering at a mile a minute as he quickly moves her to his right side. “You gonna have breakfast with us today? Breakfast is great! Mummy says it’s very important and it's very tasty and I like all the pastries and what’s your favourite part Arcann?”

He looks down at his niece, already clearly distracted and clearly relaxing from the look on his face, and she steps back further, retreating while the opening remains. Ona’la smiles sweetly at her, cradling their youngest in her arms, but Thexan is watching her shrewdly. Damn it, he must have seen how close they were standing; she really doesn’t want to deal with his insights today, and so she waves back half-heartedly. “Morning,” she says quickly, a greeting and farewell all at once as she turns on her heel and jogs towards the mess hall.

She can feel eyes on her back as she moves, but she’s not sure if it’s just Thexan or both twins.

_Don’t be ridiculous._

She really doesn’t want to sit with them for breakfast either, knowing it’s just going to be more awkward silences or even more awkward questions. She considers maybe asking Geralt for the answers Arcann stubbornly refused to provide, but to her surprise there’s no familiar flash of green in a black duster nearby at all. So she collects her breakfast in moody silence, internally swearing vengeance on the person who collects the last of the chocolate Naboo pastries in front of her.

Still determinedly ignoring the Tiralls, who she can place from Anya’s chattering as Thexan balances three trays (sheesh, can’t Arcann carry his own, Anya isn’t _that_ heavy), she looks around helplessly for someone else to sit with. If only because at this time of the morning she won’t be able to find a table alone. She breathes a sigh of relief as she spots her extended family towards the back of the room, including Risha chatting with Doc who holds little Eskel in his arms, one hand pressed against his forehead. Poor darling must not be feeling well.

The other Amell and Drayen children are seated at the end of the table, happily working their way through the various snacks on the table in front of them under the watchful eyes of Cera and Theron. It seems as though the adults had brought over their own little mini-buffet, as the girls are eating mostly from the bowls in the center of the table rather than their own plates. She smiles to see Cera reach over Rianna’s head to steal a piece of fruit from her plate, grinning wickedly at her daughter’s cry of dismay in the process.

With the kids there, they won’t be talking about work at least - so hopefully it should be safe. Family it is then.

The sound of her tray clattering onto the table makes Lieca prop her head up from her spot at the other end of the table from the kids, looking equally as tired as Calli feels, but she smiles warmly when she sees her. “Good morning Calli,” Lieca says softly, hands curled around her teacup as Calli awkwardly climbs into the seat opposite her sister. “How are you?”

Lieca can’t seriously be asking her that. Is this a test? Trying to see if she’ll bring it up herself? Damn right she will, not going to be diplomatically trapped into this conversation. She’ll mention it on her own terms, chin high, no frustrated tears in her eyes. “Well I have no idea where the Gravestone is, so fu-... _very terrible_ , if you ask me,” she answers, remembering at the last second that eager little ears are probably tuned into her every word and she shouldn’t swear. “Probably to be expected by now though, of course.”

Okay, perhaps that was a little more dramatic than she was hoping for, _fuck_. She looks up to see Lieca frowning at her, and oh Esne, here it comes. She’s fine, she’s braced herself, she can do it. She can listen to the judgement, the disappointment, see the way she’s let her family down. It’s nothing new after all.

Lieca even looks a little stronger than she did when she sat down, as though her annoyance is powering her. “What? Oh, Calli darling, that’s not your responsibility,” she says, sounding surprised, and Calli felt like she had been brandishing a sword that had broken in half, leaving her dazedly holding just the hilt in confusion. “Of course we appreciate the help but… there’s nothing else we can do for now. We’ll just have to rely on Tal’nerra and the others, I’m sure they’re fine. We’ll be okay.”

She’s pretty sure she can feel a lump forming in her throat, and immediately drops her gaze back to her cereal. Why does Lieca never blame her? This is ridiculous.

Why does she never just believe in her sister, why does she always let the little niggling doubts set in. Why can’t she believe in herself the way Lieca believes in her? Got herself all worked up for nothing. Rather than respond, she determinedly stares only at her food and starts eating in silence, half-listening to the sounds of her nieces at the other end of the table. She’s halfway through her muffin before Lieca tries talking again. “Calli?”

She looks up, freezing at the serious look on Lieca’s face. Or maybe she was right after all. “Yeah?” she asks, quickly making herself swallow.

Lieca tilts her head at her. “Are you alright? You seem sad,” she says quietly.

Alright, so, maybe there’s _definitely_ a lump in her throat now. “What do I have to be sad about? Everything’s fine. Fine fine fine,” she chants defensively.

Lieca’s expression falls, and it’s not disappointment in her but it’s close enough that it makes her stomach twist unpleasantly. “I just… I know things aren’t… ideal, but I want you to know you can come to me, if you want,” her sister continues, hands twisting around her cup. “I don’t… I don’t want him to try to ruin anything else.”

For a confusing moment she thinks that Lieca might be talking about Arcann, but the harrowed look on her face confirms that she means Valkorion and honestly, that fucker in her head is absolutely not the reason Calli doesn’t want to talk to her. Well, he certainly doesn’t help, but he’s not the problem. She is. She always is.

But that reminds her… “Why are you teaching Arcann healing?”

Lieca blinks in confusion, apparently drawn from her sad thoughts by the startled look on her face. “What?”

It’s a question she’s been meaning to ask since he healed her in the kitchen the other day, but Lieca’s been unwell and then Calli was hiding from everything and... well, apparently now rather than never. “Why are you teaching him to heal?”

Lieca still seems confused. “Well, uh, because he’s good at it? Is… that a problem?”

No Lieca, it’s absolutely not a problem for her to have his hands on her and feel that faint rush of power over her skin like a lightning bolt. It’s absolutely not intimate and protective and sweet and a whole host of other things she’ll never mention even under pain of death. “How did you even know he’d be any good at it?” she says, hoping Lieca will chalk up the colour in her cheeks to the warmth in the room, and not the heated thoughts that are playing havoc with her body. “Isn’t it some rare thing with you Force user types?”

Lieca’s confusion fades, and honestly, it’s a good thing Lieca’s honesty and sweetness wins her points with diplomacy because her face gives absolutely everything away, including when she’s realising something people don’t want realised. But there’s no way she could hear her thoughts, Force user or not. Right? “Well, he demonstrated skills in that area before he officially joined us, although he wasn’t healing consciously,” she says diplomatically. “I thought it best to train him so that he can learn to do it on purpose.” She then pauses, smiling slightly. “And it gives him something to do that’s useful to us, which seems to be important to a lot of people, including him.”

She scoffs “ _‘Demonstrated skills in that area’_? I wasn’t aware that stabbing people all over the place meant you were good at healing, guess I was wrong.”

Lieca suddenly glares at her, and with a rush of shame she remembers the kids sitting nearby. Luckily Flissa doesn’t seem to have heard her, still chattering with her cousins, and she hunches in on herself a little. “Sorry,” she says awkwardly.

Lieca sighs, reaching up to rub her forehead briefly. “It’s alright. A lot… a lot happened, before he joined us. But, surprisingly, the stabbing was not what I was referring to.”

She decides to focus on peeling the fruit in her hands. “Sarcasm is rude, Liss.”

“Mm-hmm. Anyway, he was attempting healing, but I don’t think he was even aware of it. I could only tell because I could see the traces in the Force. It took a little while to convince him that he could actually do it, and do it rather well at that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That makes no sense.”

“Hush and let me finish Calli,” she scolds, but her smile is still affectionate. “When healing with the Force, it leaves a sort of... trace behind, for those that can see such things. It’s helpful to healers on battlefields, because we can... _see_ , for lack of a better term, the faint flickers of Force energy left behind to show when something has been worked on already. So when Arcann was subconsciously healing, I was able to see what he had been doing. The Force reacted even if he didn’t realise he was directing it.”

Calli’s eyebrow lifts higher. “Yeah, okay, except that the only person he was really around before now was you, Liss. And shouldn’t you have been able to tell in other ways than Force magic? Force healing is pretty damn obvious to the heal-ee. And he’s not exactly subtle about, well, _anything_ , especially now.”

She kinda wishes she hadn’t said that, face immediately on fire, but Lieca apparently chooses to ignore it. “True, but, Calli… you’ve _also_ been around most of the times I met with Arcann before now,” she says gently. “In fact, it was _you_ to whom I was referring. Every time we met after Alderaan he was… he was trying to heal _you._ ”

Calli scoffs. “Me? That’s ridiculous!”

Lieca shakes her head. “No, I’m not. I know what I saw,” she says firmly. “On Voss he healed your hand, after the pot cut you - the Voss healers confirmed it. On Nar Shaddaa, he tried to heal your ankle after the fight against the GenoHaradan. It was why I couldn’t act myself at first, I had to wait for his Force powers to... taper off, as it were. And then when we were on our way back home, he tried to heal your hangover - and even you felt it that time. Everytime you were injured, his Force powers clumsily tried to help you, even without knowing what he was doing. For someone without any Force healing training that’s… impressive. And very dedicated.”

Woah, okay, new information there. “What?” she says, her voice way closer to a squeak than she would prefer. “Why... why would he do that?”

She remembers at last that her family is still sitting right there, when Lieca makes a soft noise and Theron leans over to start rubbing circles on her back, looking worried before being distracted by the kids again. She smiles gratefully at her husband before returning her attention to Calli. “You would have to ask him,” she says gently. “I asked him about it, before I started training him, but he did not have an answer for me, and… I felt uncomfortable pushing him.”

Of course Lieca was all worried about his feelings, it’s not like he _stabbed_ her or anything, everything’s fine. But then she realises that Lieca is looking to the end of the table, eyes distant, and her blood runs cold because she’s seen that look before. _Valkorion_.

All thoughts of Arcann and any confusing things he’s been doing are chased away, and she quickly reaches out to catch Lieca’s hand, apparently startling her. “Tell him to go away,” she says urgently. “You shouldn’t have to change your behaviour because of him. You always ask a million questions, that’s what you do. Always too curious, such a busybody. If he doesn’t like it, he can piss off!”

Lieca smiles, but this time it looks a little sad, and something about that is even more terrifying as she places her other hand over hers. “I will not give him more ammunition against his family,” she says quietly. “So if you want to know, you’ll have to ask Arcann. You don’t seem to have much trouble being around him, after all.”

Her cheeks burn, and she glares, even as she’s relieved to see the teasing sparkle in Lieca’s eyes. “Who needs to talk when I’ve got other uses for him?” she says haughtily.

She grins as Lieca wrinkles her nose. “Calli!”

Maybe everything really be alright, and it can just be about teasing her sister while side-stepping the matter of Arcann entirely. She doesn’t… there’s nothing to say about him, to her family. It’s just… it’s just what it is.

Any further conversation on the matter is stopped when she is swooped upon by her nieces, Cera’s twin terrors eager to ask her opinion on blueberry waffles while Flissa climbs into Lieca’s lap and Calinda attempts to scale Theron’s shoulders while Risha snickers at them all. Maybe they can just pretend Valkorion isn’t lurking behind Lieca’s eyes, and just enjoy this moment.

It’s a nice distraction, at least.

 

* * *

 

It’s only a short while after breakfast that Lieca finds herself in the little garden made for her family’s personal use, a quiet grove of trees and grass and flowers not too far from her old ship where she can breathe and feel the sun on her face and start to properly relax.

She loves her family, loves them dearly, but sometimes the noise and commotion of her nieces and extended collection of loved ones can get a little overwhelming. And if she concentrates, she can still feel Calli’s misery settling over her like a cloak that needs to be thrown off. Her dear sister tries so hard, and takes everything so personally. It’s not Calli’s fault that the Gravestone is missing, and that she’s worried sick about it.

That has more to do with the ghost in her head than anything else. He’s too _smug_ about it all, he has to be involved somehow.

But meditating always makes her feel better, sitting cross-legged in the sunshine and steadying her breathing. Usually she likes meditating with others, drawing strength from community, but today she just needs some space. She carries reminders of them with her, to help her focus - the bracelet Flissa made with Calli’s help on her wrist, Cera’s confidence soaring through her heart as she runs the morning practice sessions on the far side of the base, and Theron’s shirt to help her chase away the lingering sadness when she pictures his pouting face after she stole it.

Even while she’s wearing it, tucked away under her usual flowing robes, it still smells a little like him, and that’s immensely comforting.

_“Such weakness.”_

As is her usual wont, she ignores the whisper drifting between her thoughts, and curls further inwards on herself. She doesn’t need his drivel today - or any day, for that matter - but it’s the vague sense of gloating that she feels bleed over from him whenever she thinks of the Gravestone that makes her more uneasy than normal.

How can he be affecting whatever happened out there, in the far off, empty regions of space? He is trapped in her mind, he can’t affect a ship that was half a galaxy away - even before it disappeared, she has no idea where it was.

She can _feel_ his laughter, even if she can’t hear it, and with it comes the cruel reminder that she thought him confined to her mind before he started tormenting Arcann too; the memory of Arcann’s terrified distress makes her heart ache with sorrow all over again. She determinedly pushes aside the invasive thought, stretching out across the base with her mind’s eye to brush over the usual, more comforting vantage points. Something to ground her, and keep him at arm’s length.

It might not be very Jedi-like, but the sense of self-satisfaction at how well her range has improved, even while her physical health is not the best, does make her feel better. The calming sensation even seems to make her own soul brighten in the landscape of her meditating mind.

She’s so busy concentrating that it takes a few minutes to recognise the flicker of another presence in the Force before her, and she opens her eyes slowly, smiling at the ghostly figure seated there. “Hello Marr,” she greets pleasantly.

In the sunshine he would be faint enough that she would have barely been able to see him, but somehow he’s found a patch of shade to sit across from her, mimicking her posture for all that it looks strange with his larger form. “Hello Master Amell,” he answers stiffly. It must have been later in the morning than she thought, as that patch of shade had not been there when she had sat down. Although, she would not put it past Marr to somehow cloak himself in a shroud of shadow and darkness so thoroughly as to manifest actual physical shade for himself, so as to stage a more dramatic entrance - an amusing thought that she decides to keep to herself.

She tilts her head at him. “I have not seen you around recently,” she says, voice lilting to make it almost a question.

A ghost has no need to breathe, but he huffs in approximation of annoyed breath just the same. “I have been respecting your wishes, and steering clear of the abomination,” he rumbles. She has the sudden absurd urge to press her ear against his chest to feel the way his voice changes the timbre of the air, a sure sign she’s beginning to slip again. Sillier thoughts when she’s exhausted and letting things slip that she shouldn’t.

She winces at the aggressive tug on her thoughts, shaking her head to clear it. “You should not be unduly burdened by things that cannot be controlled,” she says quietly.

The snarled hiss is far louder that time, but she focuses on Marr, and the silent power he exudes even in death. Brighten the glow, sharpen the focus, strengthen the shield. Steps she’s well-versed in by now. Glow, focus, shield. Keep fighting.

Eventually, Marr growls, folding his arms and drawing her attention back to the tangible world. “Why do you think I am here?”

She frowns, not quite panting from the effort of the last few minutes, but certainly breathing harder. “Satele is still recovering and-”

He cuts her off with a chuckle, the sound unusual enough to make her pause. “Jedi,” he says in clear amusement, “I meant in general, not here specifically. Though I find it interesting you assume that I would be here as a last resort.”

Her fingers twitch where they rest on her knees, and her frown deepens. “I would instead assume a matter of defiance, against the one who killed you.”

_“Such ill conceived endeavours could not hope to defeat me-”_

She moves her left hand in a gesture that after all these years is more instinct than purposeful, and the glimmering Force shield encases both her and Marr before she can even blink. The rush of relief at the temporary silence almost makes her collapse inwards, but force of habit alone keeps her back straight. _Take that._

Marr makes a vaguely impressed noise at her shield, sounding almost proud when he speaks. “You know much of rebelling against his nature, it seems,” he notes. “And you deemed it necessary to encase me too?”

“Of course,” she responds, feeling a little insulted. “No-one deserves to be left alone with him.”

She rolls her shoulders back, fully prepared to continue basking in the sunshine and her brief flash of defiance, but after a few minutes Marr speaks again. “Why do you think he chose you?”

She keeps her head tilted back in the sun, eyes closed. “Because I was not the most powerful, or the most corrupt, or the most obsessed with his legacy,” she eventually answers, voice soft. “But I was still dangerous enough to be silenced.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiles again, aware the expression might look more brittle than it feels. “What do men of power hate most, after all?”

Marr hums, voice stern. “What?”

She opens her eyes and moves her head back down to look at the almost alarmingly translucent mask, even with her shield. “Anyone who defies them.”

Marr doesn’t make another sound, and she forces her hands to relax out of fists; she wonders whether he considers his mortal life with such a lens. “I… I cannot hope to match his power,” she says slowly, “the breadth of rage and hate and all-consuming destruction that echoes behind him. But what would I be if I didn’t at least try?”

_“You said the same on Ziost. And look where you are now, all that I have made you.”_

“At least I have love,” she snaps. “I’d rather have my family than any poisoned legacy you want. _Go away._ ”

She realises that she spoke those words aloud when she hears Marr’s warning rumble. “Master Amell,” the Sith Lord growls, sounding worried in his own way. “Lieca. You must focus.”

She sighs. “Sorry. I’m listening. He’s more... _persistent_ , since I started trying to help Arcann. And he knows something about why the Gravestone has vanished. But his aid is not worth the price he asks.”

Marr makes a strange noise, as though trying to snort but unable to make it sound right without air to breathe. “I despise our former Emperor, and all he stands for,” he says in disgust. “But... if his aid could help-”

It almost sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth, and she shakes her head. “I will not let fear compromise who I am, what I believe in,” she says firmly. “Tal’nerra and the others will be fine. Arcann will be fine. My family will be fine. And there’s nothing he can do to change that.”

Marr chuckles again. “Your faith has always been strong. Even years with his mind trying to poison you have not diminished your spirit.”

She smiles. “Was that almost a compliment?”

“Perish the thought.”

She closes her eyes again to focus on her breathing, reassured by the teasing tone to his words. Their ideals are very different, and she has a habit of saying the wrong thing sometimes, but she does still want to be friends with Marr - not just allies with shared goals, or however else everyone justified their relationships during the alliances against Revan and then Valkorion.

The chill down her back warns her that her thoughts have summoned him, her shields finally faltering, and she sighs, keeping her back straight. She pointedly does not greet him, fairly sure that her patience could outlast his need for the dramatic.

She is unsurprisingly correct. “Do not think to judge me so easily, Jedi,” Valkorion warns, and she represses the urge to flinch at the sound of his voice. It could almost be soothing, perhaps, if there was not such a vast echo of loathing and rage behind it, an emptiness that only begins to hint at the eons this creature has spent tormenting the living. His power ripples through her consciousness, and she opens her eyes in distaste.

For once he is not looming over her, but she is still deeply unsettled by his position where Darth Marr had just been sitting. Of course the one time he chooses not to literally stand over her is the time he attempts to dig at her in other, equally less subtle ways. She feels a moment of fear for Darth Marr, but she steels herself - Marr is capable enough, and she surely would have felt it more keenly if Valkorion had banished his spirit for good. She can only trust that he will return when he has the strength to do so, and not allow Valkorion to feed upon her distress in the meantime.

It should not still surprise her that an immortal entity capable of such malevolence would also be so… unnecessarily _petty_. It reminds her of the worst tantrums of his children during her years in carbonite, when she was an unwilling spectator in his torment of his family. The pettiness, the flair for the dramatic, the hysterically childish anger at being denied - it must be somewhat hereditary. Though perhaps that is a thought she should keep to herself.

Valkorion looks smug. “Such elegant dancing you do around your own thoughts, all to prevent needling my son. You coddle him and the power he wastes.”

She breathes in sharply through her nose, reminding herself not to rise to his provocations. “Power turned towards protecting others is not wasted,” she says clearly. “You abandoned them, and so their care falls to me. I think we are all happier this way, yes?”

He does not look pleased. “All of your efforts to keep me sealed, and all you did was replace the threat Arcann posed with one larger, more uncontrolled. My daughter has seized power, and in return, you do nothing. Is your new pet project worth the carnage she unleashes across the galaxy?”

She rolls her shoulders, determined to stay in her meditative pose no matter his needling. “Vaylin’s actions are far more your responsibility than mine,” she says. “You were the one responsible for her upbringing and her torture, and you were the one who ensured that she had no guidance when it came to her power or her morality.”

He laughs. “Guidance would not have solved anything - Vaylin was born corrupted and evil-”

A spike of motherly rage shoots up within her. “No child is born evil!” she snaps.

She feels the caress of yawning darkness brush against her thoughts, a horror beyond imagination. “I was.”

Lieca shivers, trying to shake away the sickening ache of memories that do not belong to her, of evil that is such an anathema to everything she believes in and strives to be. “Vaylin is beyond my reach for the moment, and she makes her own choices - my efforts in giving Arcann a chance to be the person you denied him are not to blame for her misdeeds.”

“Such confidence, my dear. You so easily deny the evil that my daughter is capable of - I wonder what it will take to make you see the threat she poses.”

She smiles slightly, though to her regret it’s probably not a very nice smile. “I wonder the same for you.”

He moves smoothly to his feet, and she hides her shudder at the sudden deathly chill in the air. “You presume much, Jedi.”

She looks up at him evenly. “I am not the one who is afraid, Valkorion.”

The use of his name strikes its mark, but the flicker of emotion on his ghostly face is gone before she can crow in victory. “You think I fear the petulant tantrums of children who even now seek my favour above all else?” he thunders. “Ridiculous. You have no idea what you are dealing with.”

Her smile turns serene. “I always knew,” she answers quietly, but keeping her voice strong. “But I’m not surprised you didn’t. Vaylin has the potential for far more than you ever realised, even with all of your torture and your hate and your attempts to cut her down to something you considered more palatable - and you’re finally starting to see that, aren’t you?”

“Lieca?”

She turns her head towards the familiar voice, Valkorion’s ghost flickering and vanishing as easily as if a switch had been flipped; to her right, coming down the trail from the bridge, Satele is slowing to a halt, looking harried as if she had come to find her in a hurry. “Master Satele?”

The older woman looks concerned, but she smiles distractedly at the address. “Must we still be so formal?” she asks, walking over towards her with caution still lingering in her eyes. “I felt the shield fall. I felt Marr... well. Are you alright?”

Lieca climbs to her feet, trying to hide her shaking legs as she does so. “I… will be?” she answers helplessly. She was never good at lying to Satele, even at the best of times, of which this was most assuredly not.

Her former Master quickly moves to support her with her arm around her shoulders. “Good,” she says softly, voice almost impossibly sad. “This burden is dangerous.”

She breathes in deep, blocking the burgeoning tantrum in her mind at their interrupted conversation. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she answers, half-laughing as she allows Satele to take some of her weight.

Satele pauses, clearly deciding what approach to take with some care. “Your sister insisted on including Arcann in the sparring training with her older students this morning,” she says after a moment of contemplation, electing to avoid further discussion of Valkorion entirely. “I thought you should know, in case anything turned… rough, and you felt it through your bond.”

She cringes. “Oh. You could tell?”

Satele sighs. “Lieca, your shields are not exactly secretive,” she chides. “I may not agree with all of your decisions, but I do not wish to see you harmed. Let him go and try to relax. Cera would not let any harm befall him.” She pauses. “Intentionally.”

Lieca almost rolls her eyes. “That’s not reassuring,” she mutters, but releases the shield over Arcann all the same. The break from his stormy temper - still simmering after whatever happened last night (she hasn’t had time to locate the exact details, only waking up in a panic at the flare of his rage before Theron calmed her down) - is a blessed relief, and she almost curls in on herself.

Satele squeezes her shoulder as they start to walk back to the main base. “And for all our sakes my dear, please talk to him about this Force bond. It does neither of you any good to have him project this much - though at least he keeps it contained to your bond and not the Force at large. You are not responsible for his emotional state, that is his duty.”

“But-”

“Lieca.”

“... yes Master.”

 

* * *

 

The tantalising smells of the lunch menu are beginning to waft through the hallways by the time Calli finally tracks down Geralt, and it’s enough to almost distract her from the hunt. She missed out on her favourite breakfast pastries, damn it, she wants the best of the cold cuts at lunch. She deserves an entire wedge of Alderaanian alpine nerf-milk cheese all to herself, frankly. Will it solve the mystery of the missing Gravestone? No. Will it make Geralt come out of hiding? Also no. Will it make up for the heinous crime of her having been denied chocolate pastries for breakfast? Nothing ever will, but by god is she going to defiantly eat an entire cheese wedge by herself just to spite the universe. And she’s going to enjoy herself.

She eventually finds Geralt in one of the last places she’d normally think to look for him, hiding away in the training rooms and watching some of the sparring matches. Judging from the absence of his duster coat, and the fine sheen of sweat along his forehead and arms - and the admiring glances from some of the spectators - he must have been participating only a short while ago himself. Huh.

The bar in this room doesn’t have any alcohol, mostly just on hand for water and juice and light snacks for the combatants to keep their blood sugar level, but when she glances towards it, the three people sitting there all freeze at the sight of her and all but fall over themselves to flee from the room.

Okaaay, that’s a bit weird.

Unnerved, she looks back around the room and realises that Geralt has spotted her, and even at this distance he looks a little guilty. Which means he knows something, and her expression hardens as she stalks over to him.

He grins at her, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Morning Cal. You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

One of the combatants suddenly stumbles and she realises that it’s Arcann, sparring with one of the Cathar Jedi she doesn’t recognise. The practice saber looks almost wrong in his hand, but from the grumpy expression of the Cathar, that might be for the best.

She hears Cera bark out instructions, every bit the intimidating Battlemaster when she’s in this mode; her sister is overseeing the sparring, happily perched on a nearby crate. “Nasira!” she says, her voice carrying hard and fast like the crack of a whip in the echoing hall. “Don’t put your weight forward so much, it’s too easy to overbalance when you’re frustrated. Your emotions can empower you, yes, but they can also overwhelm you and make you sloppy. You can do better.”

The Cathar nods in determination and corrects her stance, quickly forcing Arcann back onto a defensive footing. He spins the practice staff in his cybernetic hand, the slow rotation making the muscles through his shoulders ripple. _Goddamn_. He shouldn’t be so flashy even when he’s defending, it’s rude.

Geralt clears his throat and she remembers her ire with a start, whirling on him again and hoping that he’ll take her red cheeks for anger instead of, erm... _interest_. “What have you been up to?” she says suspiciously, prodding him firmly in the chest.

He pulls that innocent face that’s probably fooled absolutely no-one in his life (maybe Corso), and she folds her arms at him, tapping a foot impatiently. “Who, little old me?” he says, in the most sugary innocent voice imaginable. “Whyever do you think I’ve done something?”

She glares at him. “That face for starters,” she says bluntly. “Start talking, Abelli.”

Geralt sighs, wincing sympathetically at the strike Arcann makes on his Cathar opponent, as Cera calls more instructions in the background. “Come on babe, do we have to do this?” he says, not quite pleadingly but certainly reluctant.

She continues to stare at him, well aware that he’s not at all afraid of her, but equally aware of the fact that she’s more stubborn than he is; he’ll crack before she does. But to her surprise, he doesn’t back down at all, expression shrewd. “Why do you need to know?” he asks, his eyes hardening again as his jaw juts out stubbornly.

She blinks in confusion, bewildered by his defiance; her eyes flit to the distraction of the fighters again as Arcann grunts, before steeling herself and looking back to Geralt. “Why were they running away from me?” she says, gesturing back towards the bar. “Out with it, you know something. Have you been spreading stories again?”

He grins, but it still doesn’t meet his eyes. “Of course. Everyone loves to hear about that time with the meringue and the handcuffs and-”

“Geralt!” she shrieks, apparently at a far louder volume than she was expecting because Arcann suddenly stumbles, cursing as the Cathar strikes his mechanical shoulder. Half of the hall glances in her direction curiously, and she feels her face flame; she glares at her friend and punches him in the arm, hoping again that no one will take her red cheeks as blushing and more as a sign of rage. “I know you’re joking but it is still _not appreciated!_ ” she hisses.

Geralt laughs, immediately smug, and this time it does relax his face. “I’m only teasing,” he says, sticking his tongue out at her.

She rolls her eyes and aggressively crosses her arms, pretty sure her face is still on fire. “So what are you actually doing?” she continues grumpily, tucking her hands underneath her arms.

A tic moves in his cheek, and gestures for her to step away from the others, one arm curling up around her shoulders protectively to guide her as they move. Okaaaay, this seems serious.

He releases her once they’ve moved out of hearing range, against the far wall, watching her face carefully. “They’re in tight with the guys I’ve been watching for a few weeks now,” he says, sounding a little frustrated. “So they’re all a bit on edge right now since they’ve realised we are fully aware of what they’ve been dabbling in.”

She blinks in confusion again, looking back towards the makeshift bar and the now empty stools that had previously been occupied by the riff-raff. “What? Those losers? What’s that got to do with anything?” she says, before narrowing her eyes at him. “And what’s that got to do with me? Did they finally figure out the Alliance _slicer_ is unsurprisingly _slicing_ their files when they talk about Alliance crap, huh?”

He doesn’t answer, so she presses. “Who were they selling the info to? No, wait, I’ve got it, were they using Bowie’s bar to offload shit, is that it? I know we encouraged a certain clientele down there so I figured it was inevitable...” She trails off at the strained expression on his face. “That’s not it, is it?”

Geralt huffs, shaking his head in amusement. “You gotta ask don’t you?” he says, sighing. “Just once, can’t you let me protect you from the pirates?”

Sudden understanding dawns on her like a bucket of cold water thrown over her head, and she shivers, folding her arms around herself. “You don’t have to protect me all the time,” she says quietly, hoping he realises she still appreciates it.

Luckily, they’ve been friends for so long that he can read her like a book, and he wraps his arm around her shoulders again, kissing her hair. “I know. But I will,” he murmurs, before tightening his hold. “And fine - as you could probably guess, judging from your tone and the way you’re hiding your face from me now, they were being gross about you. And I’m not really okay with listening to that level of fuckery from pathetic assholes, so I dealt with them. Strongly and severely. Maybe a few broken bones. And maybe they’ll think twice before thinking that a beautiful, amazing girl like you deserves to be treated anything like that.”

She’s not going to cry, she’s not. Honest. It’s just dust in here or something, as she wipes her nose on her sleeve. “So you started a brawl?” she sniffs, snuggling into his shoulder as he hugs her properly. “Real fucking mature Geralt.”

He clucks his tongue. “Is it really a brawl if you annihilate the competition before a return blow is made?” he muses, chuckling darkly. “Besides, I didn’t start it - your toyboy did.”

Her heart stops. “What?”

Geralt hums. “Tall blond and handsome back there? Current paramour of choice? That toyboy. Unless you’ve got another one, in which case, I want all the filthy details.”

She struggles out of his arms, still confused. “What do you mean toyboy?” she says, voice a little more shrill than she would like.

Geralt sighs, but his mood has taken a complete one-eighty turn; he’s practically radiating smugness _and_ anger now. “His Imperial Majesty didn’t take too kindly to those fine gentlemen and their opinions,” he says, smiling with too many teeth for it to be an entirely friendly expression, “so he threw them into the wall. Big scary Force powers kind of throw. Kinda blew my cover in the process but hey, it stopped me beating them into paste first.”

She’s aware that she’s staring at him, but she can’t quite absorb the knowledge that _Arcann_ attacked first. Why? Geralt continues talking as though oblivious to her crisis. “Although it did make them significantly more amenable to my interrogation. Maybe I should have your boy around more often, keep the asshole criminals in line. Fear over love right?”

She shoves him, desperately trying to make him as off-balance as she feels. “Hey! He’s not _my_ boy!” she snarls, before feeling her heart squeeze in her chest, a little desperation creeping into her tone. “And you… you said you wouldn’t joke about that anymore!”

Geralt’s expression immediately sobers and he ducks his head in apology. “I know babe,” he says heavily. “But that was before you started making eyes at each other every few minutes. He’s spent most of his fight with Theia watching you, you know.”

She starts, spinning to look. “What?”

She can _hear_ how smug he is behind her. “Made you look.”

She growls, spinning back around, but he’s already got his hands up to catch hers. “I know, I know. Calli, I love you too,” he says, smirking hard enough that his face is sure to break. She wants to break his stupid face. Even as she thinks that, he sobers slightly, his expression more earnest. “And want you to be happy, babe. So, like... if this does?”

Calli holds her breath.

Geralt takes a deep breath. “Then go for it. With everything in you, because when happiness comes your way in the form of another person, well... it’s the best feeling in the world.”

She can feel her eyes starting to burn. “Geralt...” she begins, but he cuts her off.

“And hey, if it doesn’t? I’m _very_ talented at all of the following: murder, broken kneecaps, alibi provision, general wetworks, cleanup crew, legal defence-”

Cera’s voice enters the conversation, sounding extremely amused as she walks over to them. “I saw you on Voss Geralt, I wouldn’t ever ask you to be anyone’s legal defence unless I wanted them to lose,” she says dryly, grinning at Calli before gesturing over her shoulder. “And stop harassing my baby sister, you’re up against Theia now. Your adoring crowd awaits.”

He fakes a wounded pout, hand over heart, but the allure of the spectators watching him eagerly is too big a pull for the natural showman to resist for long. He’s stalking back towards the sparring ring in no time, calling out outrageous flirts to his disgruntled opponent.

Cera shakes her head at him. “He’ll never change,” she says affectionately before turning back around. “Let me know if you want me to add you to the roster!” she calls before wandering back over to the crew, clearly pulling on her Battlemaster hat again as she goes from the way her tone shifts. “Abelli! Eyes up!”

Calli takes a moment to try to collect her thoughts, trying to make herself lower her arms, but Geralt’s kind words have still shaken her a little.

It’s not so much the fact that there’s some people in this place that’s starting to feel like home who make her feel unsafe. It’s more the fact that so many people are so willing to step in front of her for it. She loves Geralt, and he’s always been so protective of her, but she’s used to that. He knows her, he loves her, he respects her own rage and discontent with gross people and knows when to step up and when to back off.

Arcann stepping forward in her defence is an entirely different matter.

Speaking of the confusing ex-Emperor, apparently his time in the sparring ring is done for now, as she can see him standing away from the others and running a towel over his face and neck as he faces away from her. Maybe if he was less flashy in his sparring matches he wouldn’t get all hot and sweaty and _oh dear_. Her stomach flutters at the memory.

_Down girl._

Before she’s even entirely aware of it, she’s stalking over to talk to him. It’s… to thank him for being nice? As fucking weird as it is. That’s a thing people do right?

_Thank you for trying to kill someone who made awful sexist comments about me?_

Even in her head it sounds ridiculous. But she needs some excuse as to why her feet are moving her over here, rather than just _‘hey so you’re hot and apparently more so when working out what the fuck is with that I’m pretty sure that’s illegal?’._

She’s getting off track again. Blame his muscles. Or something.

Is it still muscles to blame when his left arm is cybernetic? Come to think of it, he doesn’t seem to be using it that much - is it still adjusting, or did something happen? Should she ask Dia?

No, that would be sounding too interested. No more questions today.

Maybe she should stop over analyzing the situation since she’s already fucking standing behind Arcann now. He doesn’t appear to have heard her, not reacting to her presence in the slightest, and she almost reaches out to touch him to get his attention. She remembers at the last second his clear aversion to surprise touches, and settles for clearing her throat as she stares at his unfairly well-defined back, the fabric of his shirt drenched with sweat and clinging to his muscles as if to taunt her.

What? A girl can swoon.

His complete lack of reaction however makes her frown, before she remembers his hearing seemed a little off today outside the mess hall at breakfast, and she takes a step to the right, trying again. “Arcann.”

He whirls around at that, pale blue eyes wide, and she corrects with another step back to the left as he speaks. “Calli.” He pauses. “Callistra.”

She rolls her eyes, waving him off even as her insides continue to quiver and betray her. “You make it sound so damned formal,” she grumbles. “Just stick to Calli alright, it’s weird.”

His eyes widen more at that, and she tells herself there’s no reading into it. But he nods. “Calli.”

Okay, perhaps oddly significant, and she frowns. But no, she was trying to be nice. “Arcann,” she says, realising too late she’d already led with that, and lapsing into awkward silence.

Well, can’t someone just kill her now?

The silence lingers far longer than comfortably, and Arcann eventually speaks again. “Did you… need something?”

Yes, because of course she only talks to him when she needs something, never the other way around and she cuts her thoughts off right there. “Geralt told me what happened. Last night.”

He tilts his head at her as though in confusion, expression unfocused before suddenly hardening and the angry look in his eyes almost makes her jump. “Oh?” he says, through clearly clenched teeth.

She can’t quite tell what he’s upset about - his obvious loss of control, the memories of whatever those assholes said that Geralt won’t repeat, or the fact she’s bothering to bring it up at all. Hell, it could even just be the mention of Geralt that’s annoying him - that’s not an entirely unfamiliar premise. “Yes? I wanted to thank you.”

If he was a Cathar, she’d say his response was almost like sheathing his claws, his expression and posture softening so quickly it’s like he’s an entirely different person. “What?” he asks, clearly perplexed.

She purses her lips. “Thank you. It’s a thing people say when they wish to express gratefulness towards a person. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

He frowns at her. “I am aware of what it means,” he says dryly. “I don’t understand why you say it now, though.”

She snorts. “As opposed to, what - in the middle of breakfast, with the whole mess hall eavesdropping?” she says dryly. “I’m blunt, but even I have more tact than that.”

“Just the middle of the training hall, with the whole sparring ring eavesdropping?”

“Exactly! See, you get me, you get me.” The joke is a little awkward, and it falls a little flat. Despite his comment, Arcann continues to stare at her, something in his expression so soft and yet so wary, and it makes her feel so completely off balance. People don’t look at her like that. They just _don’t_. Her nerve is faltering badly, and she crosses her arms almost defensively. “Um. Anyway, like... I know how people talk about me. I got used to it a long time ago-”

“You shouldn’t,” he says sharply, the words stiff and forced as if it’s a struggle to speak them aloud.

She blinks in surprise. “Shouldn’t what?”

“You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” he says, and he - holy fuck, is he blushing? Or is he just red because he’s angry? Or is it from exertion? Wait, was he flushed before she got his attention? “They shouldn’t say it in the first place.”

The slight growl in his voice makes her shiver, and she glances down hastily, to hide how much it flusters her. “Well, they do,” she says quietly. “I just learned to shrug it off, ignore it. Laugh at ‘em, sometimes, like I care what a bunch of dumb fucks who can’t get laid think of me.” She laughs awkwardly, but it’s not really funny, and when Arcann just stays silent it just makes her feel _more_ awkward.

Is this how Lieca feels all the time with her habit of cracking extremely ill-timed jokes at terrible personal situations? Ugh.

He’s giving her a weird look, and if she could just sink into the ground now that would be fantastic. “It is still unacceptable,” he persists.

She folds her arms around herself, still feeling off balance. “That they said it at all, or that it was about me?”

“Both.”

That startles her, and she looks up to see him looking frustrated. “You are far more than they will ever realise and I will not see you slandered by people who will never understand who you are.”

... Oh. “You… you don’t have to do that. It’s not your concern, you know.”

He looks more frustrated now, tilting his head a little towards her. “When they disparage you because of me, they make it my concern,” he growls. “I will not accept this. You deserve more than this treatment, you always have.”

… _oh_. “About you?” she asks faintly, latching onto the only part of his statement she’s able to process without having a mild crisis. “Are… are people _gossiping_ about this?” she hisses. That’s just… wow. Okay. Un-fucking-believable, and she’s pretty sure her face is on fire.

He tilts his head further and she realises he can’t quite hear her, and she takes another step to her left to compensate. He immediately glares at her. “What are you doing?”

She shrugs, keeping her arms wrapped around herself. “What does it look like? I mean, I’m being super fucking weird, but that doesn’t mean I should just mumble when you can’t hear me.”

He looks stunned, and she wonders if anyone’s ever really tried to compensate for his damaged sight and hearing. The mask might have offset most of the damage back in Zakuul, but the implants Dia’ayla uses are less bulky - and she might not necessarily have gone ahead with a full cochlear implant without his permission, now that she thinks about it. Huh. She doesn’t actually know what his hearing capabilities are, only that he quite obviously struggles sometimes with crowded rooms, and she’s been making an effort to try and compensate for him. That’s not weird, is it? It’s just considerate.

So why is he looking at her like she’s grown a second head?

“Why are you- doing that,” he finally says stiltedly, as if he can’t quite work out what he’s even asking her, because he can’t understand _why_.

She huffs out an awkward laugh. “Same reason you beat up dickheads for me, apparently,” she says wryly.

“What?”

“Just...” That’s a bit too much to think about right now. “Nothing.” Don’t talk, don’t _think_.

She moves on impulse and stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She feels him tense for a moment, his muscles moving as he clenches his jaw, and for a moment she’s certain she’s made a terrible misstep with his boundaries. But when she pulls back, his eyes meet hers, startlingly blue and full of too much for her to want to try and read into right now; it makes her breath catch in her throat, and she can feel _his_ breath on her lips, she’s that close. The moment between them holds, stretching out, until her feet begin to protest at balancing on her toes for too long and she drops back down quickly. “Thank you,” she says softly, feeling strangely vulnerable.

He looks... he looks stunned honestly, like he’s just been told he’s been unanimously voted Grand Chancellor of the Republic or something. Well, she did just kiss him in a room full of people, so there’s not much that’s gonna be more stunning than that.

Oh shit. She just kissed him in a room full of people. _Fuck_.

He takes a deep breath, almost more of a shudder, and mutters “You’re welcome.”

She’s nodding - oh Aivela, why is she nodding? - and she’s backing away before she can stop herself. “Alright then,” she says, still nodding, “cool. Good talk.”

If she could just die right now, that’d sure be swell.

She spins on her heel and marches as quickly towards the exit as she can without breaking into an all out sprint, but when she reaches the door she can’t help but hesitate, looking back over her shoulder.

Arcann is still frozen in place, staring after her almost absently. His hand is touching his cheek where she kissed him.

Calli takes a deep breath, her heart fluttering around in her ribs like a butterfly trying to escape, and ducks around the corner.

 

* * *

 

Vaylin stands in silence, staring across the room at the strange twi’lek man who seems to be stuck with her for Esne-knows what reason.

 _What now_ , he said, as though she had any idea what to do. Is he asking her advice? Mocking her? _Testing_ her?

The walls suddenly feel like they’re closing in, and she automatically takes a step forward away from the sensation. She is not trapped, she is _free_.

“Empress.”

Golden eyes snap to his, and she’s supremely annoyed that she can’t read his expression. It’s not pity, it’s not anger, it’s not mocking... what is it?

He smiles gently when he sees he has her attention. “Try not to worry, we won’t be here for long,” he says soothingly. “We will either be rescued, or stage a daring jailbreak ourselves.”

Her heart hammers a little in her chest. “I am not _worried_ ,” she snaps, and she can taste the lie on her tongue.

He nods as if he believes her, and it’s still throwing her off balance how he seems genuinely reassured and not sarcastically mocking her. Who in Scyva’s name does this Jedi think he is?

Huh. She hasn’t really thought about the old gods for a long time. The myths of a simple people who don’t understand just what kind of monster their former Emperor really was. God-killer, child of a god-killer - what did the old gods matter next to that? Useless, even for swearing. Swear on Valkorion, that’s better!

She realises she’s giggling a little hysterically only when the Jedi speaks again, expression still strange. “Vaylin?” he asks uncertainly, one hand moving to his pocket.

She didn’t give him permission to use her name. It sounds nice in his voice, the first person in a long time to say it without yelling or trembling with fear. Always scolding, always Princess, always _Empress_ , never a _person_.

She watches sharply as he pulls something out of his pocket, waiting for it to be a weapon, an implement of torture, something or anything to mock her with; instead he considers it for a moment before nodding and gently raising his hand, a small foil-wrapped bar of something hovering in front of his pale blue palm. “You don’t seem to want me nearby, so here,” he says quietly, moving his hand to push whatever it is towards her with the Force

She stares at the bar, the brightly coloured wrapping drawing her eye in the dull room, and she misses the opportunity to destroy it in a fury in the glamour of it all. What if it was dangerous, what if it was a _trick_ , what if he was just trying to _hurt_ her?

It just continues gently floating towards her, and the expected flash of the Force lashing out to hurt her never comes, moving back after the bar lands in her lap. She stares at it without comprehension, looking back up at the twi’lek in confusion. “What is this?” she demands, voice definitely not quavering at all.

He looks up from rummaging in his pocket again, smiling broadly. “Chocolate!” he declares, seemingly pleased as he finds another treat in his pocket, opening his palm to reveal the second prize. “Your blood sugar is dropping, you need to eat something.”

Chocolate? She blankly looks back down at her hand. Was he… concerned?

About _her_?

No. She knows better than this. “This is a trick,” she says angrily, reaching down to pick up the shiny packaging between two fingers as if she expects it to try to bite her. “It’s poisoned.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, and she darts a quick glance towards him - he must be very angry that she’s foiled his plan - to notice he’s finally frowning. “Poison?” he says skeptically. “Who would poison chocolate? It’s too delicious.”

She laughs, the sound hollow and awful in her chest. “Everyone poisons whatever they can, it’s what people do,” she says shakily. Her arms are itching again, even without the crackle of lightning this time. “I won’t be tricked.”

He nods solemnly, moving to open up his own treat and break a piece off the end. “Alright,” he says, as if it’s perfectly acceptable for her to accuse him of attempting to assassinate her. “What if I eat a piece of this one first, and then you can see that it’s fine?”

That... is ridiculous. _He’s_ being ridiculous. But in such a small space, with her head spinning with what she’s beginning to suspect is delirium, she can _smell_ the chocolate and it does sound almost a little reasonable on his part.

_That’s how they get you, Vaylin. Don’t fall for their lies again!_

But her traitorous body slowly nods, her mouth watering, and the twi’lek smiles again, popping the small square into his mouth. The pleased sound he makes, the way he closes his eyes in satisfaction... it makes her feel strange. “Excellent,” he sighs around the treat, using the Force to levitate the opened package. “Here, we can trade then.”

She realises he means to swap their candy around, gesturing encouragingly at her to levitate her own treat. She complies with slightly shaking fingers, not at all used to maintaining this small level of control. Her powers are too unpredictable, too wild, too _dangerous_ to waste on silly things like this.

But something about it is... _nice_ too, the way he defers making any expectations about her, the way he talks to her as if she’s... normal. Maybe. Is this something normal people do? It seems such a small thing, to lift and direct something as small as a candy bar, but at the same time it feels monumental. What if she uses too much power, and it explodes? What if she’s too forceful, and she smashes it into his face?

As if he can sense her fears in her hesitation, he gestures with his hand, and the first candy bar drifts to a halt. “If you’d prefer, I can bring it to you-”

“Don’t come near me,” she snaps, hands shaking slightly. She takes a deep breath, clenching them into fists. “I can do this.”

And she can eventually concentrate enough to move her chocolate back to his side - but she’s not stupid, she waits for him to move his closer first. She’s not missing out.

His moves much more smoothly than hers, gliding through the air like the tiny dancers on the dancefloors below her bannister back in the palace. All grace and slow movement and looking like it cost nothing. Hers dips and dives and shakes, and as soon as she has his she _pushes_ hers towards him, uncaring if he catches it when she has the opened chocolate in her hands.

Suspiciously studying him for ill effects, and finding none, she moves one square to her mouth. _Please don’t let this be a trap._ She doesn’t want another trap, another betrayal. She’s so tired.

Her eyes fly open at the taste of maple syrup on her tongue, staring at the Jedi with incredulous delight. “Maple!” she shouts, aware far too late that the sound awkwardly echoes in the room when he pauses, hand above his head to catch the flying chocolate.

He nods, something in his expression seeming warm before he returns his attention to his treat. “I like most things that have maple syrup,” he says calmly, carefully unwrapping the other sweet. “I’m glad you do as well.”

She huffs. “You’re just lucky,” she says loftily. “People know what happens if I get the wrong things.”

The moment falls flat instantly, fizzling in the air enough that she can almost taste it on her tongue. The Jedi does not react to her words, instead moving his hand up to the side of his head, where she sees a glimmer of silver around his ear. “Speaking of people, I cannot reach mine,” he says, suddenly all business, and she tells herself she does not miss the nicer tone. She doesn’t get nice things, she knows that.

Maple chocolate is different though, and she stuffs another square in her mouth. It’s _good_.

He continues, absently tapping his lekku. “I think there’s some sort of technological interference. I can still feel them out there, but the comm... it can’t pick up anything,” he says with a sigh, before shifting to an almost forcedly casual tone. “What about you, can you contact your people?”

She stares at him blankly. “I do not have any _people_.”

He raises a brow, expression incredulous. “Mmm. Well, I highly doubt you came here alone, your Majesty. You are exceedingly talented, of course, but flying your flagship by yourself would be a _bit_ of a task. Your people must be looking for you.”

She laughs to hide how bitterly disappointed she feels at his reverting to more formal - and shallow - titles and compliments, eating another square of chocolate. It does actually make her feel better. “Ha!”

He frowns. “Ha? You are their Empress, of course they are looking for you.”

“Well if you’re so sure, why don’t _you_ contact them!” It doesn’t sting at all that he knows people only care about her as an Empress, not a person. Nobody cares about her as a person, she’s not a person to anyone. Just leader, or enemy, or _annoyance_.

He sighs. “A fine idea, but lacking a little in the execution,” he says dryly. “I don’t think your people would answer to me - at least, not in any helpful manner.”

She’s pretty sure he’s laughing at her. How dare he. She huffs angrily and turns away.

To her surprise, part of the wall is now no longer solid, but revealing a wide open space, and in the doorframe stands someone she thought she’d never see again. “Thexan,” she breathes, her uninjured brother’s face unmistakeable as she surges to her feet, almost stumbling in her haste.

Thexan smiles, and it’s been so long since she’s seen that look (freedom, it always meant _freedom_ \- presents and brief moments of happiness and their _family_ , all together and _safe_ ) that her heart stutters in her chest again. “Vaylin,” he answers, lifting his hand as though to reach through the doorframe, and something electrical stops him, crackling across the gap like her lightning. He grimaces, pulling his hand back as though it stung. “Ow.”

The gesture, ruining the drama of the moment, is also so familiar that she nearly sobs, taking a step away from the Jedi and towards the door. “What are you doing here?” she demands, voice hopefully not as hysterical as she feels. She can feel her eyes burning with tears, and she wants to just throw herself into his arms.

Thexan frowns, and she ignores the rustle of movement from the Jedi’s direction. “I’m here to help, of course,” he answers, voice echoing slightly. Must be the size of the room, changing the familiar timbre of his voice to something slightly different; maybe the forcefield over the door is distorting his voice. “I’ve missed you, little sister.”

It stings something inside, how casually he refers to the years between them, as though he hasn’t chosen to be gone until now. As though he wasn’t in hiding all those years, pretending to be dead so he didn’t have to deal with them. Running away from his family, gloating about being the only one of them to _escape_.

She wants to ignore the Jedi, wants to forget everything but the fact that Thexan is here and he’s alive and he’s finally come for her, but the calm barrier of his presence seems to step closer behind her. “Empress,” he says urgently. “Empress, please, listen.”

She waves him off, certain that whatever he wants to confuse her with can wait. “Why are you here now?” she demands, stepping closer to the door. “Where... where have you been?”

Thexan’s face softens, as if he pities her, and it makes her stomach twist miserably. “I’m here now,” he says soothingly, “isn’t that enough.”

Is it enough? He never came to get her from Nathema, for all the times that he visited her there he always walked away after, leaving her to rot in her cage. Is he going to do the same again now?

“Of course not,” he says quickly, and she wasn’t aware of having spoken aloud, but she must have. He rummages in his pocket. “Oh, I brought something for you,” he says, in that same soothing voice. “Here.”

She stares at his outstretched palm, recognising the bar of food he holds there. He always used to bring her gifts, back when she was trapped in Father’s hideous schemes, back before she was free. It’s almost overwhelming, how familiar it is, and how desperately she misses him.

To her annoyance, the Jedi speaks. “Mmm. Nice work, but she’s already had food, thanks.”

Thexan’s expression almost flickers, which seems strange. “Vaylin, are you alright?” he asks, ignoring the Jedi. Does he sound... _angry_ that she already had food?

She stares at her brother, drinking in all the little details. He looks exactly like he did the last time she saw him in person, all imposing black armour with gold details, smudges of dirt across his face from the twins’ war in the Core Worlds. That tiny smile at the corner of his mouth for his little sister as they passed her on their way to the throne room, Arcann limping by his side and radiating such fury it made even her shrink back.

And then ten minutes later he was dead, and Arcann was broken, and another piece of their family went away. And unlike her - she came back from that prison, she was freed, she came home - he wasn’t going to come back. He _shouldn’t_ have come back.

She reaches desperately in the Force, trying to connect to _something_ , but only meets the Jedi’s shields, glowing a soft blue in her mind’s eye. No Thexan. Thexan has closed himself off from her.

“Why are you here?” she says through gritted teeth, ignoring the buzzing in her head.

Thexan looks confused. “Rescuing you, of course,” he says, sounding bewildered at her questioning it. But something isn’t right. “I always have.”

“ _Arcann_ rescued me,” she retorts angrily, drawing in a sharp breath at the first time she’s said his name aloud since he left her to die on his flagship, since he chose their weak mother, since he _abandoned_ her. “You always left me there. Why do you show up now?”

Thexan tilts his head at her, suddenly seeming taller and more imposing, and she tries not to shrink back. “Because you need my help, Vaylin,” he says soothingly, and somehow it grates on her nerves. “Or do you want to stay here?”

She feels the Jedi moving again, and whips around to glare at him for interfering. He’s with the Alliance, he just doesn’t want her to be happy!

But he’s closer than she thought, and his blue eyes look sad as he looks back at her. “Empress Vaylin,” he says quietly. “You know what’s happening here.”

Thexan frowns, a far more familiar expression to her. “Are you going to listen to some Jedi over your own brother?” he snaps, voice curling into an almost echoing snarl. He almost sounds like Arcann wearing his mask - the mask that she last saw destroyed on the floor of his flagship.

She tries to repress her flinch from that remark, striking her to the core. Trust no-one. Father abandoned her, Mother abandoned her, Thexan abandoned her, Arcann abandoned her. She just wants to be alone. Alone, like it was actually her choice and not just that no-one wanted to be around her.

It figures that Thexan finally comes back and some Jedi who’s been weirdly nice to her is unhappy about it. Did he think she would fall for his smile and honeyed words? Is he upset she has a way out that doesn’t involve her falling under his control? She’s been tricked her whole life - can’t she meet just one person who doesn’t immediately see a way to use her?

But Empresses never cry, so she holds in her sob and tries to straighten her back. Imposing, not scared. Never scared. Never let them see.

Thexan holds his hand out to her, smiling when he has her attention. “I’m sorry, I’m just so worried about you,” he says, almost persistently. “Please, Vaylin. Come with me. I just want to help you.”

“How did you get here?” the Jedi asks quietly.

Thexan looks startled. “What?”

The Jedi shrugs, radiating patience, but she can feel a note of annoyance under the surface, something coiled and protective and she’s seriously not used to noticing myriad emotions in people that weren’t just fear and anger. “Seems a bit strange for you to just show up out of the blue. How did you know where we were?”

Thexan’s expression flickers again. “I followed you, of course,” he says, unblinking eyes back on her. “My sister needed me.”

The Jedi nods. “Of course. You know, you could have just come with us, if you were so inclined to follow. Our ship would have been more comfortable.”

That’s right. Thexan was with the Alliance now. The Republic pretender, the false prince - whoever he was, he was against her! “So you are with the Alliance?” she snarls, hoping it doesn’t sound as broken as she feels.

Thexan looks seriously annoyed now, glaring at the Jedi. “Tal,” he starts, grumpily.

The Jedi holds up one hand, expression serene, but the Force starting to swirl around him a little. “Full name, please,” he says pleasantly. “We don’t know each other that well, after all.”

Thexan’s fist clenches, and he turns back to her. “Vaylin, you’re not going to let some _Jedi_ speak to us like that, are you?”

She reaches out towards with the Force, pushing past the Jedi’s light shields to find... nothing, and her stomach drops. “He just asked you what his name was,” she says, stepping back for a moment. “He works with the Alliance, you should know that.”

He switches back to innocently confused so quickly it makes her heart ache further. He’s... he’s not real, is he? “I don’t care about their names, I only care about my family,” he says soothingly. “Vaylin, come with me.”

“What’s his name?” she asks desperately. “He works with the Jedi, you memorised all those things, you should know. You _married_ a Jedi! You should know!”

“ _Vaylin_.”

She’s pretty sure she can feel tears in her eyes, and she’s so angry that he’s _lying_ to her. Thexan didn’t lie, not when he was alive. They never lied to her, before Thexan died and everything fell apart. “You said you brought me a gift,” she says with a shaking voice, hoping and wishing that she’s wrong, that he really is here and wants to help her. But she doesn’t think she is. Anger and rage and bitter, lonely disappointment swirl in her like a maelstrom. “Did you make another bear for me?”

He falters for a moment, and she can feel the Jedi’s shields suddenly strengthen as though he’s figured it out too. “I don’t have one here,” he answers, seemingly confused, before breaking out a heartbreakingly almost familiar smile. “But I can make another one if you like.”

Her heart shatters. “I made it,” she whispers brokenly. “You didn’t. You’re lying.”

He freezes, and she can feel the Force starting to ripple around her. “Why can’t I feel you?” she demands, the panels on the wall behind her starting to shake. “You’re not my brother. Who are you?”

His expression shifts again, and this time she sees the undercurrent of electricity running over it. “Vaylin.”

The Force is making her want to itch, everything starting to grow hazy as her rage grows. “ _Who_!” she demands.

His expression is stone. “You should have just believed me,” he says patiently. “It would have been better for everyone.”

The Jedi steps forward, expression tight, and she just wants them both gone. “Except for her,” he says firmly. “She matters too, you asshole. Let her out.”

The being wearing her brother’s face smiles, the expression somehow horrifying. “No, I think you can both stay. If you don’t accept my help, what use are you? I’ll just leave you here.”

He then looks over at her, smile widening and seemingly unconcerned about the building Force around her. “Maybe this time Valkorion will succeed, and you’ll just die like you should have on Nathema. I don’t care either way. I already know you are not worthy of inheriting this world. That’s all that matters to me.”

Vaylin _screams_ , and the Force answers, the room seeming to explode around them. Shards of metal go flying around them like a tornado has engulfed the space, with Vaylin at the epicentre; she can hear someone shouting, and it might be the Jedi and it might be the imposter, but it doesn’t really matter. Nothing really matters.

When the vortex of shrapnel finally falls to the floor, the wind dying down even as the electricity crackles over her skin like her body is trying to contain a storm, the room is a shredded mess and the imposter is gone. The Jedi is not, though, and he slowly lowers his arms from where he had thrown them up hastily to shield himself from the shards. She forgot to do the same, and the flying shrapnel has cut her skin to ribbons, slashing through her armour in a dozen places or more in long, thin lines that smart so sharply and bleed fine trickles of bright red blood. There is a look on his face that she can’t quite read, so she decides it must be fear. He’s right to be afraid of her - everyone else is, after all.

“If I see you again,” she says, keeping her chin held high and her voice shaking, “I’ll kill you.”

And she turns and walks through the shattered remains of the door.


	40. Revelations

Cera rolls her shoulder as she walks through the hallways, grunting as it twinges slightly until she twists again. She’d gone another few rounds in the sparring ring after lunch, and a few lucky shots had even gotten past her not insignificant guard.

Well, when it comes to Calli’s fighting style, she has to admit that it was less luck and more a damn good strike. Calli’s form of sparring has always been more suited for outright brawling, and her unpredictable style makes her a formidable opponent even against more empowered Force-users; she proved it again today, crowing smugly at landing a hit on the untouchable Battlemaster. The only one who genuinely seems capable of keeping up with her is Geralt, who remains mostly undefeated in hand-to-hand combat. Both smugglers fight _dirty_ , and it keeps everyone on their toes. Geralt has the reach that Calli lacks, but she has more talent with counterweighting and using an opponent’s strength against them to compensate.

She doesn’t particularly like sparring against her sister, but sometimes it helps them both to see if Calli is capable of besting her. Tal’nerra is the only one to have defeated her with sparring blades, but hand-to-hand combat (without the aid of the Force, at least) is an area she still needs to work on. It helps Calli to see that she can defeat a Jedi, and helps her to see that her little sister is more than capable of looking after herself. No matter how reckless and foolish her... _personal_ choices.

_Ugh_. No, she’s not supposed to think that, she’s being good, she’s not judging. Just because she despises Arcann is no reason to get huffy at Calli for making eyes at him every five seconds. Calli is still smart and capable and strong and brave, no matter the ass that she’s shacking up with.

She breathes through her nose for a moment, trying to reign in her irritation. Calli deserves far better, but so far she seems happy, so that is what is important.

Well, that, and telling said asshole that if he doesn’t stop projecting his lust for their sister through his Force bond with Lieca she is possibly going to kill him. It’s the absolute last thing they need right now, for all that she enjoys teasing her sister about it. It’s easier to keep Lieca laughing after all - it’s one of the few ways that she feels she is helping.

Holiday is apparently keeping tabs on her pathway through the base, as the previously locked door to Lieca’s office opens as she strides up to it, not even bothering to knock as she steps inside.

To her grim amusement, Arcann is slumped over on the couch, looking completely undignified and rather stunned at her sudden appearance. “Hello,” he says, somewhat awkwardly trying to sit up in a more dignified posture without being obvious about it.

She tries not to relish in his obvious discomfort, but she’s only human. “Hello.”

They stare at each other for a few long moments.“Ah… your sister is not here,” he says eventually, brow furrowed in confusion. She doesn’t usually seek him out - in fact, it’s usually the opposite. The avoidance is mutual, however, because he’s certainly never gone out of his way to seek her out either.

She sighs irritably and folds her arms, aware of the door shutting behind her. She mentally sends Holiday a quick thank you. “I am surprisingly aware of that,” she says dryly. “I’m pretty good at keeping tabs on my own family. _You_ were the one I was looking for.”

She’s pleased at how he subtly tenses at that declaration, clearly aware that this isn’t necessarily going to be an entirely friendly chat. Which is the exact reason that she’s the one doing this instead of Lieca - Lieca is too sweet, too insistent on trying not to make trouble for anyone. She’d rather seal herself away than risk hurting someone else’s feelings.

Well, and there’s the small matter of fucking Valkorion taking too much glee in his son’s misfortunes, and his attempts to torment Arcann always end up hurting Lieca just as much, if not more so. As much as Cera dislikes Arcann, she enjoys denying Valkorion far more - and it’s just better for them all to keep Lieca and Arcann away from each other in emotionally charged circumstances.

Arcann looks as though he’s not entirely sure if it’s safe for him to move, as much as he clearly detests being seen in a position of weakness by someone else. “Oh?” he says at last, reclining against the lounge in a manner that is clearly meant to look relaxed and unruffled.

It doesn’t fool her for a moment; in fact, two can play at this game. She nods, deliberately leaning back against the wall behind her to play at nonchalance, but keeping her arms folded. “Mm-hmm,” she intones vaguely, waiting for the moment of annoyance to cross his face as he straightens. He might be confused and wary now, but his impatience will always win out over any meek facade he’s putting up.

It only takes a few more moments for him to crack, and he moves into a more regal sitting position before glaring up at her. “Speak then.”

She sighs. Once an Emperor, always an Emperor. “Simmer down boy,” she says wearily. “I know you’re still struggling to find your place here, but this posturing is entirely unnecessarily.”

He frowns. “Posturing? I-”

It’s rude to interrupt, but Lieca isn’t here to scold her. “Yes, posturing,” she starts in exasperation. “Sitting here broadcasting your every emotion, just because you’ve been bottling it all up for years. Don’t you find it exhausting?”

He looks confused, and she wonders how someone who literally terrorised the entire galaxy for years with his infinite armies could be so fucking _dense_. “I... what? I do not know what you mean.”

She gestures towards him. “You _are_ aware how Force bonds work, yes? Well, you’re skipping a few steps and just screaming into the void just because it’s there. You need to relearn control, Tirall, you’re just making everything more unstable.”

He’s clearly offended, quickly standing up as though sitting while she is standing is unsettling him. “ _You_ think that I need to learn control?” he starts derisively, and she decides that that is rather uncalled for. Even if she started it. “You think I do not know what I am doing, as though my entire life has not been regimented by the necessity of mastering my power?”

“Yes.”

He’s clearly thrown by that, and she makes a mental check on her tally board. She shrugs. “I think that whatever control you think you had - you are choosing to ignore it now, projecting your every mood swing without a thought to how Lieca feels about it. If I’m getting any of it, especially through Lieca’s powerful shields, you _really_ need to learn to chill, Tirall.”

He looks a little chastised for a moment, but is clearly unwilling to conceded the point. He grew up with siblings, why wasn’t this attitude dealt with when he was a child, honestly. “I apologise that the aftermath of the severing of the bond with my own twin is causing you such distress,” he says tightly. “Is insight into my every movement not your exact goal here? You have made it clear that my presence is unwelcome. Do you not want to know my every thought so that you know when you can strike again?”

She cuts him off again, raising her hand. “Arcann,” she interrupts, and the use of his name makes him pause. She smiles at him, aware it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I really don’t care about you that much - but if you make me experience one more sex dream about my baby sister through your bond with my twin, I am going to castrate you.”

He freezes, and the room almost vibrates with awkward tension as that declaration hangs between them. “... what?” he asks eventually, voice faint and the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

There’s too much of a big sister in her not to relish his discomfort, even as the subject matter makes her want to hit something. “Everytime you start having _thoughts_ about our sister, Lieca definitely knows about it, because you are about as subtle as a screeching orobird in its first year of plumage. And then I’m starting to pick it up as well, and I’m not even connected to you! Why are you making me suffer too, honestly.”

He’s still staring at her in vague horror, cheeks definitely pink now, and she rolls her eyes. “Lieca’s too nice to say anything, and she tries to block out what she can- and I’m guessing Thexan is too embarrassed to say anything-, but you are being deliberately rude. It’s not even a matter of keeping things inside, repressing everything and being all unhealthy and idiotic. It’s just being sensible enough to know that, _maybe_ , Calli’s older sisters really don’t want to know any details about your sex life. _Ever_. Thank you. So stop _shouting_ about it! _Keep it to yourself Tirall or so help me_.”

“I thought repressing things was more of the Jedi solution,” he mumbles, apparently determined to be rude despite his obvious embarrassment.

Well, okay, that was a ridiculously poor joke - why does Calli even remotely like him again? He’s not _that_ pretty, damnit. “Har-dee-haha, hilarious,” she deadpans. “You really gonna start going after the Jedi when we’re the only reason you even survived to get here?”

He frowns at her, his hand apparently unconsciously rising to touch his injured cheek where his mask used to be. “If my memory serves, that was not your intention at the time.”

“Perhaps,” she says tightly. “It is my job to protect my family, and you have been causing them pretty significant harm for the last several years.”

Nevermind that she’s been failing her family in the protecting of them for the same number of years, losing Lieca to the carbonite and then Calli to Zakuul in her place while she tried to raise an army to save them both. It’s easier now, having her twin back and sharing this burden and seeing her family safe and whole around her, but those years of helplessness don’t just fade away, no matter Lieca’s optimism.

There’s a reason Lieca always comes to find her when she’s trying to meditate after all. They’ve always been the same - guiding and comforting each other. Able to tell without words, without gestures, that they were needed. And they’ve been needing each other a lot recently.

Fucking Valkorion.

Arcann does duck his head at that, looking away from her for a moment. “I... I am sorry,” he says, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. “I… I know that is not enough but-”

She waves him off. “I am not interested in your excuses,” she says coldly. “Your actions need to speak louder than your words, and they are so far sorely lacking.”

He glares at her again. “What would you have me do?”

She rolls her eyes. “ _Anything_ would be a good start. It’s not exactly a secret that you’re only here because you have nowhere else to go. So, Tirall - what are you doing with your life now? What do you want?”

He looks down at his hands, robotic fingers clenching and unclenching as though he cannot quite control it. “My father must be stopped,” he says hesitantly, clear tension visible along his jaw. “That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.”

Still not good enough. “That’s not what I asked,” she snaps. “What do _you_ want? For _you?_ ”

He looks back up at her, expression surprisingly open for their conversation thus far. “I... do not know,” he answers at last. “I… my entire life has been planned for me, from the start and… and the only time I made my own choices…” he trails off awkwardly, hand rising to touch his scarred cheek.

“You failed,” she finishes for him.

He glares at her again, and she thinks for a moment he was going to retaliate against her harsh words. But to her surprise he visibly swallows his temper and even steps back. “I failed,” he agrees, the fight seeming to go out of him for a moment.

The moment hangs between them until she shrugs. “Full offence, but I am very glad that you failed at taking over the galaxy and killing my sister. I’m rather personally invested in those things not happening.”

He huffs an almost laugh, moving to sit down again, and he’s not quite fast enough to hide the wince as his cybernetic arm catches on the joint. “I thought you Jedi were supposed to be above such attachments,” he mutters.

She knows he’s probably trying to make some stupid joke, but it still stings a little. “I haven’t really felt like a good Jedi since your father spent six months inside my head. But you know, sure, let’s laugh it up.”

Silence rings out again, and she’s already kicking herself before he can even react. Why the fuck did she bring that up? He stares at her, and she glares back. “What, you thought Lieca was the only one in our family to suffer through his Lord High Assholeness? Sadly, not.”

He’s still staring at her, and it’s a little unnerving. “What?”

He coughs. “But... you survived him. Isn’t that… that is a good thing, isn’t it?”

She shrugs, rather disliking the feeling that she’s losing control of this conversation. This was just supposed to be telling him to stop metaphorically screaming about his sex life. “All I did was inspire him to try again with my twin. What use was another lightsaber when he could corrupt the Jedi’s own healer instead? What use for a Battlemaster without a war when he could take the Barsen’thor?” she snarls, voice only a little broken. “She saved me… but I can’t save her in turn.”

Arcann looks down at the ground again, his chin propped up on his hands with his elbows on his knees. “He did always like to try to hurt the harder targets,” he says eventually. “I… I always gave in easier than Thexan.”

She feels vaguely ill at the notion that he is trying to relate to her, for all that their circumstances are eerily similar in their own way. “It is not the same,” she says, aware her voice is sounding a little hollow. “You...you lost the best part of yourself and you gave up. I don’t have that luxury. I have to keep trying. She needs me. My family needs me. They all need me.”

He almost snorts. “Try running an Empire.”

Her temper flares again, and she turns on him instantly. “Excuse me? You want to compare our situations, _bucko_? You took over an Empire and ran the galaxy into the ground! Should that be boo hoo, all the sadness for Arcann? ”

He growls, standing again as though he can’t bear to stay sitting. “You think it was easy? Taking control of my father’s Empire, an Empire who should have been led by the Immortal Emperor? Constantly compared to my father, constantly seen as _lacking_? Judged for choices I never made, choices I _should_ have made, consequences that I could not foresee?”

“You think it was easy spending five years desperately trying to keep my family alive amidst your temper tantrums?” she snaps back. “You think it was easy walking away from the Jedi, the people who raised me, to fight for a sister that _you_ imprisoned? Then to save another sister _you_ endangered?”

She’s had years of the doubt and the anger and the failure to set in - some petulant child (can he be considered a child if they’re the same age... she thinks yes) can’t tell her how to feel. She’s a Jedi, even now, and she knows what she’s been feeling. _Lonely_ , without the other half of her soul, trapped where she couldn’t follow, because of this man in front of her. She is strong, and protective, and loving, and well aware that she was in over her head, but what choice did she have? Her sisters needed her! The Jedi’s favourite shield, the warrior who defended them all - what use was that if she couldn’t protect her own family too? She’d make the same choices one hundred times over if she had to - but that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt.

His eyes widen slightly, the pale blue almost glowing in the lighting of the room. “Their lives were not at risk from me,” he answers, voice rumbling in his chest in a way that might sound nicer if she didn’t dislike him so much. It sounds a little deeper than Thexan’s voice, no doubt due to damage sustained in the attack that took his arm and marked his face.

She laughs bitterly. “Not at risk? They both nearly _died_. Lieca was drowning in poisonous carbonite! Calli was hunted by your useless Knights and soldiers! And then they finally found each other and almost made it to freedom and you, you fucking _stabbed_ Lieca and _I felt it!_ ”

Her voice echoes in the room, and she doesn’t give Arcann and his angrily red cheeks time to respond before she continues, starting to pace in agitation. “I nearly had them both home and then I _felt_ the strike and could feel the echo of your fucking father ‘ _magnanimously_ ’ stepping in to ‘ _help_ ’ and I was fucking _useless_! And I still had to stand up and pretend everything was fine with my stomach on fire and my head screaming at me and just, ugh!” she cuts herself off, breathing in deep to try to calm down. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

She whirls around to glare at him again, and he’s standing again, fists clenching at his sides as he visibly tries to hold in his temper. “At least the strike was not yours,” he snarls, face still flushed from the annoyance almost bleeding out of him. “You didn’t feel your twin die and know it was entirely your own fault!”

She rolls her eyes. “No, I just had to feel the echoes through the Force of every Jedi who died at your orders because I was here instead of defending them,” she answers hotly. “How many do you think it was, _Arcann?_ How many lives were lost because you couldn’t cope with the magnitude of your decisions? How many lives were lost because I chose Lieca over everyone else?”

He doesn’t answer, and the Force seems to hum around them both as his anger starts to cause a reaction. But to her surprise, he cuts it off almost as soon as he seems to realise what he’s doing, only the faintest crackle of lightning over his palm as he steps back. It just leaves an absence in its wake, and its suddenly too big and too much and too exhausting.

She runs her hand over her face, trying to collect her own thoughts, and gently acknowledging the presence of her twin as Lieca tries to check on them both before firmly pushing her away. This isn’t about Lieca stepping between them again, not this time. Some battles she needs to fight without her sister but... she’s so tired.

She’s still rubbing the bridge of her nose when Arcann finally speaks, voice low and hesitant. “And how… how many lives have you saved, stopping me?”

She turns to look at him, eyes wide, but he’s not finished. “I… I am learning the hurt that… that I caused. I didn’t… I didn’t think about it, about any of it. But seeing… seeing what you have… your family - you protect each other. Your every move was made out of love for each other. You would die for each other. My… my family tore itself apart instead. What good was an Empire when… I didn’t have anyone. Not as I was. I had… what I deserved.”

He looks back at her, eyes shining blue. “Your sisters were the first people to speak to me like I was a person, not just _‘the Emperor’_ for years. Even Vaylin… gods, she tried so hard sometimes, but we were so different, and so… _angry_ , that we just ignored each other and mocked each other - and we let him do this to us.”

He smiles, though it’s small and far more broken than that smug idiot has a right to look. Ugh, no wonder Calli likes him, it’s like he’s a fucking puppy or something, what gives? “My father… your sister deserves better than him. I should… I do not know what I can do, but I want to try.”

She raises her eyebrow. “So, you’re just here because you owe us?” she drawls.

His own eyebrows lift, his surprise obvious. “Owe you? Why do I owe you?”

“Uh, let me think,” she starts sarcastically, raising her hand to start counting on her fingers. “Not killing you, then saving your life, then paying for your medical expenses, then letting you stay here - need I go on?”

He snorts. “Except you _did_ wish to kill me, and I believe _I_ paid for my arm,” he says, almost sounding smug at the end. “You had to steal my money before you could even afford it.”

Brat. “Money _you_ stole from other worlds first! Ugh, you’re infuriating!”

He suddenly seems extremely amused by something, and she purses her lips at him. “What?”

He coughs a laugh, shaking his head. “It is nothing.”

She glares at him suspiciously, but he doesn’t elaborate, suddenly looking serious. “If I did not want to be here, I would not have sought you out,” he says at last. “I… am not sure what I will do next but I know… my place is here.”

She folds her arms. “Sought us out? Is that what you call running to my little sister’s rescue on Nar Shaddaa?”

He blinks, and she wonders again how he can honestly be this fucking dumb. “I... what?”

She smirks. “You’re clearly not too eager to mess with Dia’ayla, and yet you ran out of her clinic without a word, just after Vitalia rang for help? And then you _happened_ to make your way to the warehouse across town where our security team was, as opposed to the actual meeting space where we were? Are we supposed to believe that was all a coincidence?”

He apparently decides not to dignify that with a response, folding his arms and glaring stoically at her. Too bad for him she has no real fear of him, and she rolls her eyes. “Fine fine, be a royal brat. But... thank you, for my sister’s life. I should have said it earlier but... thank you.”

He’s clearly surprised at the jump in conversation, but scowls. “I did not act for you,” he says crossly, cheeks going a bit red again.

She sighs. “I know, I know. Don’t get all huffy,” she says dryly, arching her eyebrow at him. “And back to the beginning of this - stop projecting when you’re having sex with my sister, or even thinking about it. I don’t care how heroically you rescue her, I really do not want to know, okay?”

“If you are not aware of my thoughts now, I believe we shall be fine going forward.”

He looks way too proud of himself for needling her that effectively, and she gapes at him for a moment before lifting her chin in the air. “You intend to make this on ongoing arrangement then?”

He retreats almost instantly, clear confusion across his face, and she remembers that despite all the rumours of fucking Emperor Sexy or whatever the fuck it was over there on Zakuul, there was never really any talk of anything longer-term than a quick roll in the hay. Or, she supposed, a quick roll in the glass tower.

Force, hopefully Calli was serious about it being more than that, he couldn’t be that fucking great if it was quick, ugh. Why even bother.

He apparently decides to fall back onto bravado again, back visibly straightening as he puffs up. “I believe that is none of your concern,” he says haughtily.

She smiles, aware it’s probably a little unfriendly if the way he steps back as she moves closer is any indication. “Good. Let’s keep it that way,” she says cheerfully, reaching out to slap his shoulder in a mockingly playful manner. “Cause if you think I’m capable of breaking you in half for hurting her… imagine what she could do.”

He stares at her evenly, and she nods, turning on her heel to leave. “Oh, and I’ve invited Dia’ayla to come visit. She should be here any day now. Hope you’ve been doing your exercises!”

Stunned silence follows her out of the room and she resists the urge to cackle.

 

* * *

 

Lana rubs her forehead, trying to repress the urge to murder everyone in the room, including her dear wife.

The first few hours after regaining consciousness were all but a blur - she remembers waking up in a strange room without her weapons, apparently slightly after Jezhara, as she had woken to the familiar sound of a red lightsaber slicing through the wall to free her. Her wife’s fury was always something to behold, but even in the midst of her rage she still took the time to give her a sly grin as she heroically came to her rescue, and despite her current annoyance the memory still makes her heart flutter.

It was only natural to want to thank her wife for her actions - even in hostile territory, they can always manage to take a moment to aggressively make out against the nearest wall. To be Sith is to live every moment to the fullest - or so her wife has always declared, pressing her teeth against her pulse point.

Jezhara had eventually broken away to press their foreheads together, her worry clear even through her anger as she spoke of waking up herself, breaking out of her room, and then finding the armory where their weapons had been stored along the way. Their comlinks were not working, and they were wary of stepping outside when this place and its atmosphere are an unknown, but even deaf and blind they would be able to find each other through the Force. Jezhara had taken her hand as they left her prison, her stance protective and dangerous as they headed towards where she could sense her former apprentice.

They had found Jaesa in the process of rescuing Vette, with their two Mandalorian friends in tow. Skyrii had been bleeding from a head wound, and Torian had only stowed his weapon after Lana took a moment to heal it.

Vette’s almost supernatural ability to access the alien computer systems had eventually led them to this seemingly safe location - a venue that Vette claimed was referred to as a Tributary in the files she accessed, which could’ve implied a temple or a bank or a museum or any number of things -, collecting a near frantic Raj along the way. Their comms had finally started working again sporadically as they cautiously moved into this new area, which according to Vette’s hacked maps were part of some sort of training simulation. A training simulation for what, they hadn’t determined yet, and the few glimpses she’d had of the outside world had been even more ominous. There was light, certainly, but no stars. No sky. Force, she couldn’t even tell if the lightsource she’d seen was truly a star, or if it was artificial.

This whole place was a nightmare to comprehend, built of proportions unfathomable to any race or species in the known galaxy, but it was here. It was real. It belonged to someone, and Lana did not want to meet that someone.

They had eventually been able to make brief contact with Koth, and with him the remaining crew of the Gravestone, all worried but safe. They had suffered the same fate as the rest of them, falling unconscious at the onset of the light, and waking up unarmed in unmarked cells. Without lightsabers or the Force to aid them, their team was significantly more trapped than their party, and thus required rescuing once they could be located

All in all, the only missing members of the crew were the Republic droid and the Jedi, and honestly Lana would rather have both of them here than anyone else in the room right now.

Tal’nerra’s gift for maintaining calm even in tight situations would be far more welcome than her wife’s angry pacing and the Mandalorian bravado as they all try to figure out their next move. Vette was the only one not arguing, and that was only because she was so busy trying to access every console in the room to find a way to clear whatever was corrupting their comm signals. Raj would normally be another voice of reason, but he was clearly so stressed about his husband that he was just pacing nearby too, though well out of range of Jezhara. He clearly wanted to help Vette in some way, but after his first attempt at hacking into one of the consoles nearly got him electrocuted, Vette had ordered him to stand clear.

Lana almost misses Theron in that moment, or at least his slicing capabilities. Well, if she’s being perfectly honest, she does also miss his conversation - his inane sarcastic quips are good for easing tensions, if nothing else. If they had known what was coming, on what should have been a relatively routine mission, perhaps she would have insisted that he come with them. But he clearly did not want to leave his wife’s side, and that - at least - she understands.

These lines of code in front of her, however? She does not understand them at all. She must be getting rusty. A fact that is extremely inconvenient and not at all worth admitting aloud.

Did Jezhara really have to start swinging her lightsaber around like that? Honestly, for a former assassin, the woman just has no patience, and it is extremely distracting. If Jez starts a brawl just because she can’t control her temper, she really will have to kill her. Or kiss her. Maybe both.

Apparently the nervous tension of the room is even starting to get to Vette, as she is muttering to her own wife as she works, verbalising her actions as though trying to focus. “And then connect that wire, plug in those numbers... okay, no, reverse the algorithm… fix that wire again... and again... _schutta_! I was so close!”

Jaesa smiles wearily, smoothing her hand over clearly irritated lekku from the way they twitch at her touch. “Now now my love, it’s-”

“Ha! I did it!” Vette’s victorious cry echoes throughout the room, and the stunned silence is almost impressive before the holonet screen above the twi’lek flickers to reveal a droid Lana personally hoped to never see again.

“ _Hello_ ,” SCORPIO intones, looking unbelievably smug for a droid without adjustable facial features.

Vette’s furious indignation in Twi’leki is not nearly as impressive as Jezhara’s incredible profanity in Sithspeak, but she is distracted from the display as her own commlink beeps.

Hoping with everything she has that they have somehow got a signal off world, she answers immediately. “Hello?”

It’s absolutely not relief that she feels at recognising Tal’nerra’s weary face looking back at her. _“Lord Beniko. I’m glad to see you well.”_

She almost laughs, ignoring the display of anger behind her. “You as well, Tal,” she says, carefully angling her body to block SCORPIO’s line of sight without making it obvious that that is what she was doing. “What happened? Where are you?”

He shrugs. _“Well, I was kind of hoping you could tell me,”_ he says helplessly. _“I was wary of leaving the space I woke up in in any particular hurry, mostly because the main way out involved following a woman who said she would kill me if she saw me again. It would be terribly annoying to have to fight without my lightsaber and destroy any goodwill I earned today.”_

She blinks in surprise. “What? Who was with you?”

Tal’nerra frowns. _“You couldn’t feel it? Empress Vaylin is here too.”_

She freezes, and he smiles wearily. _“Which isn’t entirely surprising, if that is SCORPIO I hear carrying on behind you. The Fleet must have been summoned here by whatever signal disrupted the Gravestone. She must have been onboard. Though why someone thought to put us in the same room is beyond me - perhaps I had not had enough heart palpitations and had some well overdue quota to meet. Little Anya will be disappointed to know she is no longer the only one to startle me awake.”_

“Must you be so calm, it is infuriating,” she snaps.

He visibly rolls his eyes. “ _Should I scream and carry on and pull out my hair? That would be physically impossible, and I am rather attached to my lekku. Physically and emotionally. How did you get the comms working again, do you know where we are?”_

“Not a clue I am afraid. I don’t even know where we are in relation to you, let alone what Force-forsaken planet we have landed on.”

Tal’nerra looks bleakly exhausted, as if he was hoping for a better answer and has no strength left to feign optimism. “ _Wherever it is, you cannot trust your eyes here. When I was in the sealed room where I woke up - I saw Thexan.”_

Lana pauses. “What? Don’t be absurd, that’s impossible. He is not here.”

He frowns deeper, seemingly distracted by something off-screen as his eyes are darting around the room. _“Well I know that, and you know that. But Vaylin was badly shaken for awhile. Clearly dehydrated and suffering low blood sugar, which didn’t help her comprehension of the situation. You humans are dreadful when you are hungry, you know that right?”_

“Tal, focus. How did you see Thexan?”

He’s clearly frustrated, even as he keeps searching, the comm clearly controlled by the Force as it follows him along. _“I don’t know Lana. He was just there. His exact duplicate. And I couldn’t feel him through the Force but he seemed so... real. He had Thexan’s face, Thexan’s voice, Thexan’s memories - luckily not all of them, as we could trip him up a few times, but something is wrong, Lana. Force, technology, or some combination of the two - I could have sworn that it was him, if I didn’t know we had left him behind. We cannot trust our eyes here, until we find out what’s going on. Have you found any of the others?”_

She nods numbly. “Most of our combat team yes. We spoke briefly with the flight crew but with comms down until just now - we have no idea where they are.”

He nods. _“Do you_ know _you’ve found the others?”_ he asks seriously.

She glares at him. “I think I’d know my own wife when I see her,” she says frostily. “I disapprove of your insinuation otherwise.”

_“True. But the Force is blurring everything here, it’s difficult to focus-aha! My lightsabers!”_

At least that explains why he wasn’t making eye contact with her, and she considers the situation grimly as he straightens, hands fumbling about at his hips as he reattaches his lightsabers to his belt. “And how do I know that you are _you_ , then?”

_“You stole five packets of Dubrillion salted truffles from my bag two days before the Gravestone was attacked, unaware that I planted them there for you, you snoop. Would you also like to prove that you are you?”_

She blushes a little, scowling at him. “Fine. That ridiculous scarf they were wrapped in was a gift from Cera, and you know full well she didn’t even make the fringes like she said she did. Also I am fairly certain that Drayen laced the chocolates because that hangover was brutal.”

He laughs. _“How else do you think I was able to obtain them in the first place?”_ he says smugly, before his expression sobers again. _“But enough banter, we need to get moving. We don’t seem to have supplies here, and I am rather wary of staying any longer than necessary to witness whatever machinations SCORPIO has in place right now. Do you trust everyone with you?”_

She wishes it didn’t make her heart squeeze in her chest, looking over at her furiously gesturing wife. “Of course,” she says quickly.

Tal’nerra is still staring at her when she looks back. “ _Because - who would use Thexan’s image to hurt Vaylin? Who even knows enough about them to know that she could possibly be manipulated by that, years after Zakuul said he vanished? Who could have done this?”_

“No, it can’t be-”

_“Who benefits from creating chaos amongst allies? Who did you say seemed stronger in the Gravestone? Who seems connected to everything we fight for?”_

Her fingers tighten enough on the commlink that her knuckles almost turn white. “Valkorion,” she whispers.

 

* * *

 

“Aries…”

Theron looks down at the sound of his wife’s murmured whisper, moving his free hand back to her hair to continue stroking it while she tries to sleep. She had insisted on him going into the main control room for his work, but he’s still a little wary of leaving her alone for too long at the moment, and he knew if he left she wouldn’t actually sleep. So, they compromised - she lay on the couch with her head in his lap and he kept working while she napped.

Normally she would have pushed more for him to take a break as well, which just indicates how tired she is - for her to give in without a fight is unusual. But then again, neither of them has been sleeping well recently, what with Valkorion roaming around.

Lieca does seem to calm down as he touches her, and he tries not to feel so completely useless in the face of what is trying to hurt her. He doesn’t have the Force, he doesn’t have anything that can help her - five years apart, and he still can’t be the person that she needs. He’s trying, really trying, but there’s some things he just physically can’t do for her.

She’s been mumbling on and off since she first drifted into sleep, and if he’s recording the words she’s using he’s just trying to find answers. So far it seems just gibberish to him - something about Iokath, Aries, Izax, Zakuul - it means little to him, but the mention of Zakuul implies some sort of connection. And they’re all basically grasping at whatever they can now.

There’s been no updates on how to get Valkorion out of her head, especially since two of the main researchers have been offline for the last few days with wherever the Gravestone is. Jahlia keeps insisting that they need to talk to Arcann, but he’s pretty sure that Arcann still needs time before he’s going to willingly help them like that - plus they have no idea what to ask.

If Arcann knew how to banish his father, he’s pretty sure he would have done it by now. He might not like the man very much, but his fear of his father is pretty obvious. It’s the same twitchy look Thexan gets when he realises no-one has seen Anya for awhile. But, you know, a little more serious.

As though thinking of her husband summoned her, he suddenly receives a message from Ona’la on his datapad, asking how Lieca is.

Well. It may be dramatic to respond all _“how would you be in her situation?”_ but it’s done now.

Ona’la’s response of multiple sad and shocked emojis, before being followed by a somehow earnest sparkling love heart, does make him feel slightly better at least.

They really have been trying to figure out a way to get Valkorion out. They’ve of course been researching on and off for years, but only in an arbitrary way - there was little use worrying about it when Lieca was still imprisoned, after all. And they didn’t know exactly how much that fucking asshole was trying to hurt her when she wasn’t awake and looking at them all with pain-filled eyes, that even now just thinking about kills him inside.

He loves her so much, this kind-hearted, supportive, and beautiful woman who somehow decided she loved him too. Her and her wonderful little daughter who clearly looks up to him as some sort of possibly-parental figure (which is an entirely different level of terrifying to looking at Lieca when she’s having a nightmare and feeling like he’s failed her) - this little family is his whole world and he just… he needs to protect it. But he doesn’t know how - never before has he hated his lack of Force powers than in these moments. He even went to his mother, swallowing his pride and desperately asking for answers that she could not give. He’s actually never felt so connected with her - seeing his own worry and fear mirrored on her face, even as she had to tell him no. Things will never be okay between them, but that moment - even when Lieca wasn’t present, just the idea of her and her loving heart helps. As it always does.

So it was up to the rest of them to find an answer. Lieca and Cera have been kept out of it as much as possible, to prevent Valkorion using their connection to figure out what was going on and try to stop it. They already knew that he wasn’t necessarily confined to Lieca’s head - from the scattered mumblings of his wife over the past hour, he’s fairly certain he’s not even confined to her head right now. But it just makes him more aware of how much he’s come to rely on the family over the years - being separated from Cera’s military mind and unwavering support is starting to take its toll.

He frowns at another notification on his datapad, recognising Darth Imperius’ near signature social messaging style. He’s fairly certain she keeps her messages normal with other people, but ever since he made some comment about her overuse of _#bored_ he’s been inundated with ridiculousness in all her messages. Woman sure knows how to hold a grudge.

“Gemini…”

He looks back down at Lieca, frown increasing further. Gemini? Like the GEMINI droids? What in Corellia’s seven circles of hell is going on?

Jahlia’s messages have no answer, though she’s getting a little pointed in her insistence that he asks someone else for help. He knows what he’s doing. He needs to do this.

_“Ask someone for help or I shall tell your mother that you are moping.”_

Well, no time like the present to tell Jahlia exactly where she could shove that suggestion, and he’s quickly embroiled in a texting war that he knew was doomed from the beginning. But Theron Shan has never really known to quit while he was ahead, and far too stubborn to admit when he’s hit that point.

It ends with Jahlia somehow extracting one babysitting date and one crate of maple chocolates out of him, while he barely managed to suggest one Sith tome and one task for her archaeologist friend. He’s fairly certain she’s somehow figuratively skipping away from the conversation, even though he has no idea how she could even convey that in text form.

She also dragged Holiday into it, so if he thought he was outmatched before he’s very quickly beaten into submission by the AI’s worry and desire to help. Force, it’s no wonder Holiday and Lieca get along so well - absolute sweethearts with a thirst for knowledge and fierce love for their friends and family. And downright dangerous when something threatens their loves. Holiday has been near despondent about her inability to help significantly in their taskforce for Valkorion, and so she throws herself with gusto into figuring out the mystery of the Gravestone’s whereabouts.

Well. That Lieca’s odd mutterings are even connected to the Gravestone is a wild guess but he has a hunch. That feeling that’s not quite desperation, but strong enough to refuse to be denied. And it’s never been wrong before. Other people always say to trust their guts - Theron can’t imagine not trusting that feeling of impending danger, or of tantalising realisation just out of reach. It’s never failed him before.

Who needs the Force when he’s got hunches and blind luck?

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a pale hand suddenly tweaking his nose, and he yelps as he flinches back away from it, looking down accustorily at sparkling blue eyes. “Lieca!”

She giggles, and it chases some of the tiredness away from her eyes. “You were concentrating so fiercely my darling, I couldn’t help it.”

He wrinkles his nose at her, but immediately moves his hand down over hers, squeezing gently. “Someone has to do the work around here. How long have you been awake?”

She threads their fingers together, looking pensieve. “A little while, but not long,” she admits. “It’s nice, watching you sometimes. I like the way your eyes shine when you’ve almost found a solution. It’s a good feeling.”

He flushes, his free hand moving up to rub the back of his head self-consciously. “You just like embarrassing me, don’t you?”

She moves their hands up to kiss the back of his, the familiar gesture relaxing him even in his embarrassment. “Of course,” she says easily. “Your brow was all scrunched up, though - it must have been important.”

He doesn’t want to move his hand away from hers, so moves his other hand down to brush her hair away from her forehead. “You always are.”

She purses her lips, but is clearly pleased regardless. “Hmm. Now who’s trying to be embarrassing?”

He chuckles. “I consider it a miracle every time it’s not me,” he says dryly.

She smiles, and even half asleep with the imprint from his pants on her cheek from when she was sleeping on her side, she’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. “As for important matters, don’t listen to Cera. Our birthday isn’t until next week.”

His heart stops in sheer terror, and she only takes a moment before dissolving into giggles and he realises he’s been caught. Maybe he can’t remember the exact date in this moment of panic but he knows he’s got more time than this - at least another month, or maybe two. “Lieca! Oh, that is not funny!”

She’s still laughing even as he twists to bring her into a sitting position, pretending to squirm away even as he tucks her into his side. “You should have seen your face love,” she says gleefully, and the rare mischief in her smile is enough to convince him that maybe everything really will be alright.

He knows her well enough by now that she’s only playing to try to relax him. But she can’t help him with this, because she can’t know what they’re up to. And he’s pretty sure she knows that too.

But rather than think on it more, he bends his head to kiss her. “Terror,” he murmurs against her lips.

She’s still smiling as he moves back, moving her hand up to stroke his cheek. “I love you,” she answers eventually, tone serious. “So much.”

There’s too much in her expression right then for him to accept, his own panic rising for a moment in the almost finality of her tone, like she’s trying to convince him of it again. “I love you too,” he says thickly, moving to press their foreheads together. “More than I ever thought I would. Uh, I mean, not that you are not completely amazing, or that you’re not worthy of everything a person could give you but-”

She stops him with her finger over his mouth, eyes shining. “We’ll be okay, Theron.”

He wishes he could believe that as easily. “I know,” he lies.

 

* * *

 

Arcann lies on his bed, his right hand tucked behind his head and his left arm hanging uselessly by his side. He can’t sleep, too many thoughts jumbling together in his head with his heart pounding in his ears.

Admittedly, he had tried to go to bed fairly early, but it has felt like a long day. His body still aches from the sparring sessions that morning, and his adrenaline keeps spiking whenever he thinks of his conversation with Cera that afternoon. Does it count as a conversation if it includes so much arguing and yelling? He thinks so.

His adrenaline keeps spiking for an entirely different reason when he thinks of why she had chosen to pick a fight with him - his cheek still tingling from the kiss Calli had given him that morning.

As Emperor of Zakuul, he was no stranger to gestures of affection from his adoring subjects in the privacy of his rooms. He had not removed his mask in the presence of any lovers since he was injured on Korriban, but he still remembers the passionate kisses of the years prior to that fateful day. And of course, the more recent kisses with Calli, using his mouth to bring her pleasure or to distract her from her ranting about him. Sometimes both. He does enjoy kissing her, as strange a concept as that is to him.

But a kiss on the cheek, as innocent as it was sweet, is an entirely different thing.

There is no purpose for such a gesture - it is not a sign of mutual desires, an action taken to instigate a sexual encounter. A kiss on the cheek as a gesture of seemingly thanks? He doesn’t know what to do about that. It’s thoughtless, and sweet, and makes his head spin even more than her usual kisses, and he’s most certainly a fan of those.

He doesn’t understand why she would do it - or why it makes his heart race to think about it. It’s an unfamiliar emotion, at least from such a relatively non-physical gesture. In comparison, he can understand why seeing her almost dancing as she dodges opponents in the sparring ring catches his eye. There’s something about the way she moves sometimes that he can’t look away from - an appreciation that is new, in its own way, but her form is certainly something to be admired. He never really spent enough time with any paramours to find their non-sexual movements to be admirable, but... surely that’s normal, right? To find her body attractive outside of the bedroom? This is all entirely new territory for him, being with a partner more than once.

He does certainly appreciate the knowledge that the repetition grants him - he knows the way she sighs his name when he kisses that spot behind her ear, or the way she groans when his teeth graze that spot on her neck where it meets her shoulder. Actions that he can repeat in their future encounters, finding the easiest ways to drive her crazy at his touch.

He swallows at the memories of the other night, of the way she melted at his kisses while her hands kept roaming his body in turn. Even when she’s clearly satisfied with his methods, she still insists on being included, never keen to just lie back and let him have his way with her. From the way she responds when he tries to test her reactions, she might be more than content with that, actually, and, well, part of him is rather eager to find out.

He groans and rolls over onto his side, his body definitely not going to allow him to sleep now. How does a woman who clearly dislikes him manage to plague his thoughts so much?

Although, if she disliked him... why would she kiss his cheek? Isn’t that a gesture of affection?

Other than their first night together, back in the palace, where this beautiful brazen woman demanded to be treated as an equal and turned his world upside down - she has instigated all of their times together. In a place where he is not Emperor - where he does not have money or power to offer - he is unsure of what is allowed, what is permitted. Social cues in general escape him, and he tries to watch others to learn. But learning how to navigate sex outside of the palace is… different.

Normally, if he is confused, he can ask Thexan - but Thexan is married, it’s not the same. Thexan knows what he feels, what Ona’la feels, what is allowed. Plus, his twin seems rather scandalised at even the hint of any sexual connotations to their conversation. He should not ask Thexan.

The idea of learning by watching Calli makes him feel ill, as he could only learn by watching her interact with someone else, and that is not to be borne. She is her own person, and fully capable of choosing whoever she wants - but he knows enough about himself that he does not want to consider the option of watching her with another.

He still remembers the bursts of rage that drove him to attack her previous dalliances while she was still on Zakuul. He really does not like the idea of repeating that now when things are both… more certain and… less certain at the same time.

Even in his own head he isn’t making sense.

And even if he could navigate the social conventions of these people - he has no idea what to do to request her attention himself, or if he is even allowed to. He knows that other than his arm and the injured half of his face, his body is fairly attractive. He would not have asked paramours to his room if he was not convinced of at least that fact. But without the social standing of Emperor behind him - indeed, to instead be little more than a prisoner of war - he has no idea of what is acceptable.

Calli is a strong and intelligent woman - she would not trifle with him, or string him along to turn him aside with laughter if his request was preposterous. Her bluntness would solve the matter for him immediately if it was an issue, as much as his cheeks burn with shame at the idea of rejection. She has made it clear that she does not suffer fools.

He has no idea what he is to her, or if she would even be interested outside of times when she approaches him. So… does he want this? Does he want to approach her this time? His body screams an empathetic yes, and he moves to sit up in annoyance, running his hand over his face.

Although he does not miss some parts of being the Emperor, the lack of having to worry about social cues in relation to sexual situations is not one of them. He was definitely successful with his first encounter with Calli in the palace after all - the memory of how sweetly she capitulated to his requests was still a fond memory.

Perhaps if he just goes and talks to her, he can try to learn what she wants and act accordingly. He quickly pulls on a shirt and loose pants before he can think about it too much, leaving his room and purposefully moving towards hers.

If he has... other intentions, than simply speaking to her - well, perhaps speaking with her will clarify other matters and lead to the most desirable outcome.

He is almost to her door when he remembers the thugs in the cantina the previous evening, and he stops in place. Awful, vile people, speaking words about her that were unkind and untrue and even now the thought of them makes his hands curl into fists at his sides. He does not regret attacking them - if he is true to himself, all that he regrets is that Geralt stopped him from killing them outright. He is trying to be better, less _angry_ \- but he also knows himself, and what he will accept. Such words would never have been tolerated if he was still Emperor. He killed one of his own Knights for saying less about her - why should those disgusting criminals be treated any differently.

Except… Calli had been so unsettled by those events earlier today, when she confronted him in the hallway with bags under her eyes and clear anger in her movements. He cannot stand the idea of her in pain, and he can still clearly see her expression when she realised that other people knew about them. That those men had been so despicable in part because they judged her for choosing him.

If this is affecting her, affecting the respect she has earned from these people who are supposed to be working for her family - can he ask that of her? He might not understand the social cues of this world, but even he knows the perils of choosing a lover from far outside your own class. Even as a man, with significantly higher strength, Force powers, and the temper to back it up - he still knew the whispers of the silly gossips whenever anyone at his galas was with someone they should not be. And he is far more capable of defending himself than her.

He grits his teeth, ignoring the spike of pain along his jaw, and turns on his heel to leave. No. He cannot ask that of her.

He stops at the other end of the hall, pausing for another moment to think. But can he make that decision for her? She is always so careful to ensure his consent, in a way that is still strangely touching for a woman who could never physically overpower him, but is his social superior in every way now. The least he could do is consider her feelings in turn, allow her the opportunity to choose as she wants.

He is almost amused, and a little embarrassed, at how easily his body can jump from shame and annoyance at her treatment to eagerly anticipating her reactions based on her previous wants. He turns back towards her room, glaring down for a moment as he moves.

But… previously she has come to him, and there was not this… gulf, between them, caused by the cruel words of people who were wrong to say what they did - but perhaps not wrong about him, about the damage he is doing to her.

But what if he is what she wants? He cannot allow others to make this decision for her - but why shouldn’t she be allowed to choose? What if she does still want him? What if she’s thinking about him too? An entirely welcome presumption that certainly increases his heart rate, that is for sure.

But what if she isn’t and simply finds his presence an unwelcome intrusion?

He does need to find out what she means by kissing his cheek though. To find out if the gesture is more common than he thinks, and if his reaction to it is being ridiculous. Or to find out if it means… something, even if only her wish to continue this… dalliance.

But it’s so late, and she never said that he could seek her out in turn. No, this is just being too presumptuous, and he finally decides once and for all to leave before freezing at the sound of the door opening.

“You ever gonna knock, or just pace?”

He turns around slowly, already a little flustered at being caught, and only growing more embarrassed to see Calli standing there, clearly about to go to bed. His gaze moves from her legs, covered in knee-high striped socks and silky shorts with what looks like a star pattern, to her face, but is momentarily side-tracked by the comfortable looking shirt she’s wearing which says “whiskey made me do it” in bold lettering. The appropriateness of the choice of wording makes him smile, before Calli suddenly coughs and his gaze snaps up to her face.

She looks faintly amused, and she shifts to lean against the frame, crossing her arms. “Holiday said you’ve been pacing out here for twenty minutes,” she says, sounding both curious and gleeful. “Something up?”

From the way her gaze flicks downwards, he knows exactly what she’s implying with her love of double entendres, and it just makes him more flustered. “I wished to speak with you,” he says flatly.

She raises her eyebrow. “Was I supposed to talk to you through the door? Or were you just planning on slipping notes under it? Should I grab my datapad?”

He frowns. “What? No, I just…”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on then Tirall. Get in here.”

She steps back from the door, clearly expecting him to follow her, and he hesitantly moves forward into her space. Luckily, for his peace of mind alone, she did not linger at the door as he passed through, but moves over to her terminal to start minimising the screens available. He frowns at the display. “I apologise if I interrupted your work,” he says stiffly.

Calli snorts, eyes still on the terminal as she’s madly typing something. “It’s not work - unless smut counts as work, which I’m fairly sure it doesn’t. Might be funny to see my sisters’ reactions though.”

He shifts through his growing vocabulary of Core World slang, eyebrow rising at her words, but before he can say anything she spins around in her chair, terminal offline. “So…”

He has the distinct feeling he’s walking into a trap. “So…” he parrots back.

She clicks her tongue, fluidly jumping out of her chair as though she can’t bear to stay sitting. “You gonna tell me why you showed up at my door in the middle of the night? Or do I have to figure it myself?” she asks, her voice sly on the last sentence, and he’s fairly sure she knows exactly why he’s here but is going to make him say it.

He instinctively straightens, rolling his shoulders back, and only a little amused on how Calli’s gaze drops at the movement. “I wish to understand,” he says hesitantly.

She tilts her head at him. “Hmm?”

He moves his hands behind his back to stop him gesturing nervously, a tell that he rarely allowed himself. “I do not know exactly what is allowed here,” he says gruffly.

Calli is still clearly confused, and folds her arms, shifting her weight onto one hip. “Okaaaaaay,” she drawls.

This is more difficult than he anticipated. Perhaps he really should not have tried to do this in the middle of the night. But she appreciated his bluntness before? “I am no longer Emperor,” he says stiffly. “But even before I was Emperor there was… certain expectations, and-”

“Spit it out Arcann.”

“I do not know if it is appropriate for me to initiate a sexual encounter with you now.”

She blinks, clearly startled, and he can feel his face start to heat up a little. “What?” she asks faintly. “Why... why wouldn’t it be appropriate?”

He notices that her folded arms shift a little, tucking around herself more, and he wonders if he misstepped somehow. “Things have changed. I am not in the position of power that I was. I do not… I do not understand how to navigate social mores outside of the palace,” he answers stiffly.

She frowns. “What?”

He growls in annoyance. “In the palace, you clearly enjoyed my request and subsequent actions,” he says stiffly. “But in this world… you have initiated each time. I… I do not know if I am allowed to initiate anymore.”

“What?”

“My words and actions mean that my current desires do not matter in the larger scheme of things. This is why I am asking.”

A small smile appears on her face, and it makes him feel significantly more relaxed. “Wait, are you asking me if you’re allowed to seduce me?” she says, sounding a little amused.

“It is courteous to not place you in a difficult position,” he says haltingly. “You speak your mind, and I would rather have you say what you need to say now than... later.”

She tilts her head at him, a slight twitch to her lips. “You really have no idea what you're doing do you?”

He bristles immediately, feeling a little offended. “I think you will find that I am rather exceptionally skilled in this area.”

She laughs, and he wishes it stopped making his chest hurt. “Calm down, we’re not having sex yet,” she says, clearly amused rather than still upset and seemingly unaware of how the mood changes at yet. “I mean the non-sex parts. Like now.”

“Well, you seem equally ill-at-ease,” he mutters grumpily.

“Well, I’ve never had someone approach me to ask permission to flirt with me before even attempting to do so.”

He glares at her. “I do not understand your societal expectations,” he grumbles. “Is it so wrong to seek clarification?”

She shakes her head. “No. But your method of asking really needs work. I was a little offended there for a minute.”

He folds his arms, grumbling as the mechanical shoulder joint catches on the muscle for a moment. “I am still learning,” he mutters. “Normally I would ask Thexan but…”

“But Thexan would spontaneously combust if you attempted to ask him about anything sexual.”

He nods. “True. But how do you know that?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, because when I told him that we’d had sex in the palace, he nearly died and was suddenly no longer interested in trying to ask me for details on how you were as a person,” she says lightly.

Arcann chokes. “What?”

She grins. “Yeah, funny how that went. For a married father of two he’s such a prude. Good thing you’re not alike in that aspect,” she says slyly.

“When were you discussing sex with my brother?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Well, we weren’t discussing me and Thexan having sex, that would be super weird. Just you and me. Besides, he panicked enough just seeing me without pants, so even if he wasn’t happily married I don’t think anything further would have gone well.”

He blinks, feeling a random irrational twinge of old jealousy even with her clarification. “What? Why did Thexan see you without pants?”

She sighs. “Because I made the mistake of calling him when I was in my pyjamas, and he freaked out at being able to see my legs.”

“Why were you calling him in your pyjamas?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because I found out you guys were on Voss and I thought he might want to know where you were,” she answers sarcastically, before her eyes widen.

He frowns. “Wait, were you the one to find us?”

She scowls, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well Lieca probably knew where you were because of that dumb Force bond shit, but… yeah, I guess I’m the first person to tell someone else where you were. Who the fuck else do you think would’ve found you?”

“Were you looking for me?”

She’s clearly embarrassed now, shifting her weight awkwardly from side to side. “For both of you!” she says insistently. “And not really, okay? I just found you. Don’t make it out to be bigger than it is. And then I told Thexan, and he was so happy - but clearly so unhappy I told him while not wearing pants. His reaction was kind of adorable, which is a really weird way to think of your identical twin.”

He frowns again, heart hammering a little at the idea of her searching for him specifically. So many of their other interactions seem almost coincidental after all, it would be nice for at least one to be deliberate. “Why is that weird?”

She still looks flustered. “Because I don’t think of you the same way, obviously. But you look the same. Well, mostly the same. He’s a little bit bigger now, and he smiles more, and-”

“And he doesn’t have scars.”

She glares at him. “And he doesn’t have scars. I also haven’t wanted to have sex with him at all, which is probably the most major difference where you are concerned.”

He lifts his chin a little, his usual pride overtaking his confusion. “You seem more than satisfied with my performance, why would you want another?”

She almost giggles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “There we go, there’s brash Arcann. I was wondering where he went.”

“I have been here the entire time.”

She shakes her head, reaching out to pat his arm. “Not what I meant,” she says gently. “You’ve been different, since the palace. Less… demanding.”

He steps closer, enjoying the way her expression changes as he does so. “Do you prefer me being demanding?”

She splutters. “No!” she says hotly, but her body is providing a far more intriguing reaction. “I mean, maybe… no!”

He steps closer again, grinning as her hand jumps out to press against his chest, keeping him in place. “Is that why you kissed me earlier today?”

She sucks in a breath, not removing her hand from his chest. “That’s different! You were being nice, and sweet, and it’s _confusing_! I was just thanking you!”

He raises an eyebrow. “A token of thankfulness? I can think of several reasons to thank you in return. Thoroughly.”

Her eyes widen, and he’d almost curse his tongue if he wasn’t getting such lovely reactions out of her in the process. It’s hard to think of the negative consequences for his actions - the gossip, the way people treat her, or even his ongoing confusion with the situation - when she’s looking at him like that. “Oh?”

He leans closer, his mouth hovering near hers, and loving the way her breath catches in response. “Tell me to leave and I will go,” he murmurs. “Otherwise, I would like to stay.”

She nods almost imperceptibly, her gaze briefly on his lips. “Good. Stay.”

He kisses her immediately, grinning against her mouth as her hands immediately loop up around his neck while his find their way to her waist, his thumbs drawing circles on the strip of skin revealed by her shirt moving up as she lifted her arms.

He is perfectly capable of showing her just how thankful he is, confusion and societal conventions be damned. In this moment, he doesn’t need answers, he just wants her.

That’s enough, right?

 

* * *

 

No, it’s really not enough. Of course, it was fantastic and wonderful and still somehow not boring? Which is terrifying in it’s own way. He’s never wanted someone more than once before.

But enough? Arcann’s starting to get the feeling he might never have enough of her.

Calli fell asleep before him for a change, and he takes the rare opportunity to just watch her. Her face is far more relaxed in sleep, the persistent wrinkle in her forehead completely gone. Her red hair curls all over the place, stuck against her forehead with sweat, and yet somehow strangely adorable.

He pauses, suddenly wary that she might have heard him think that somehow. But she doesn’t open her eyes to glare at him, still fast asleep on her side.

He’s not quite able to stop himself from slowly moving his hand down her side, eventually gently stroking her hip. Overheated skin had not required a sheet in the controlled temperature of the room, leaving her bare to his gaze and his fingertips. He’s always fallen asleep first, he hasn’t had the opportunity to just... be around her like this. To touch her in ways that aren’t purely sexual in nature.

He does however feel a brief moment of smugness that he’s exhausted her enough tonight for her to fall asleep first and then not wake up at his touch. He has little comparison, it’s true, but he suspects that she is a fairly light sleeper.

Somehow, there is a distinct difference between touching her to tease her, tempt her, and make her scream his name - and simply touching her to reassure himself that she’s still there. He certainly can’t pretend this is anything but the latter when she is sleeping - but he still can’t stop.

He still remembers how it felt, that very first night, to wake up and find her gone. And even the nights since - he hasn’t had time to absorb what is happening, to realise the effect this woman is really having on him.

Thexan wants him to talk to her, but what is there to talk about? Even if he’s awake now, she’ll probably still be gone in the morning - nothing more than it needs to be, right?

His fingers must have tensed on her hip, because she almost frowns in her sleep and he freezes. After a few frozen moments she seems to settle again, sighing softly and snuggling closer into her pillow - that he’s not at all weirdly envious of. Insomnia must be taking its toll on him.

He should just go to sleep, but his mechanical arm is still aching, and he can’t concentrate enough to dull any of it in his mind even after the fantastic sex they just had. The Force can’t fix the phantom pains anyway. Lieca knows enough to relax him, to calm the shoulder joint - but he’s still learning. He probably should have taken some of those painkillers earlier.

So he just keeps concentrating on Calli, still a little baffled by how soft her skin actually is. Even with the faint lines over her hip, and the few tiny marks from his teeth from earlier - which come to think of it, he really should try to fix… there, done - its still almost remarkable how nice it is to touch.

Nothing like the scars that dot his body, that’s for sure. Even her scars are softer than his - the mark just below her knee from running into a fence as a child, or the few shiny burns from her work as a jeweller and slicer. He’s still amused at her jeweller past, fairly certain he had even purchased some of her work while she was on Zakuul. He likes the little reminders of what led them here.

He eventually moves his hand up to her cheek to gently brush away a lock of hair threatening to fall into her eyes, and freezes in shock as she huffs a breath against his palm. “Go to sleep, Arcann,” she mumbles, clearly less asleep than he’d realised.

He was not expecting to be caught so easily, but she doesn’t make any movement to stop him, and so he gently moves his hand down her neck and over her shoulder. “I cannot sleep,” he admits quietly.

Her eyes are still closed, but her forehead does wrinkle at his words. “Then stop lying on your sore side and roll over,” she mutters petulantly.

He blinks, a little startled to realise she knew that he was in pain. He thought that he had been hiding it fairly effectively - just how much attention did she pay to him?

Apparently not that much right now, as judging from her measured breaths she seems to be asleep. He wonders wryly how awake she even was in the first place - although, again, he personally has no idea, it would also not surprise him to learn that she talks in her sleep.

He really does not want to actually move though. He likes sleeping with Calli in his arms, even if she leaves before he wakes up. If he rolls over onto his other side, he loses that chance, and he already feels colder just considering it. But he’s just being ridiculous, and her solution is the most logical. His side does really ache, and so he reluctantly moves his hand off her and starts to roll over, hissing under his breath as he moves his left arm.

He groans as he finally settles onto his right side, flexing his left hand awkwardly to try to relax the locking joints. Fine, he will take the painkillers in the morning for his shoulder, and talk to the doctors about maintenance on his arm. If Calli has noticed his pain, it’s almost guaranteed that Thexan has, and his brother will not allow him to suffer in pain, no matter how much he’s used to it.

But all thought about his useless aching body stops when he feels Calli move behind him, snuggling into his back and making him freeze. “See, much better,” she mumbles, the words broken up by a long yawn as her hand snakes around his waist. “G’night.”

He’s fairly certain he forgets to breathe until she falls asleep again. But she doesn’t move away, and he hesitantly shifts his hand down to cover hers.


End file.
